Chapter 30 – Rage
Mark read the note with a numb mind which slowly transformed through sadness into rage. Why had he ever agreed to letting her come with him? There was a part inside her that did bad staff, so like what was inside him. The two of them together just did not work, despite what he had started to feel for her, affection and perhaps the start of something more. Hell, he had even thought of letting her stay around, to see how things worked out. Well that would not happen now.
She had proved herself jealous and incapable of trust, now she had taken his most private possession and was threatening to give it to the police. And she had taken his precious stone collection, something he really treasured, both for its value and beauty, but most for the good memories it held. She assumed she could just keep it or else.
It did not work like that. He would be bullied, he would not be blackmailed; she would wish she had never started down this path.
He could feel the crocodile spirit taking full possession of his mind and transforming his rage into a primal hunting instinct. He would follow her, he would take what belonged to him back and, if she tried to stop him, he would finish her.
He picked up his rifle again, chambered a new round and started to cast around for her tracks. She was a city girl; she would not be much good at hiding herself in the bush or avoiding him. He saw sandal impressions in bits of soft dirt; that was what she was wearing on her feet this morning.
Sure enough the footmarks headed down the track he had driven in on yesterday. He wondered why she had not taken the vehicle; the keys should be in the ignition or on the driver’s seat. Then he remembered, one day, she had told him she did not know how to drive; it was not something a city girl who lived on the streets did.
He looked carefully at the road going out. It was a two wheel track that only locals knew. It had seen light traffic since the last wet season, enough break up the hard crust and leave plenty of patches where the soft dirt gave clear imprints of her sandals. He suspected she would just follow this track back to the main road then hitch a lift from there.
He knew his geography of this place pretty well. The road wound around through a gap in the hills and then came out the other side only two hundred metres from the main road. Following the track it was about seven kilometres to the main road, but as the crow flew it was between three and four. There was a hill of a few hundred feet high, followed by a second one, that blocked a direct path out. It was easy enough to walk over, though the big broken rocks prevented driving.
He did not know exactly how long she had been gone but thought an hour earlier at most. So she was probably half way back to the road, three quarters at most, she was not that fit that she could do it like a marathon even if she was trying to get away.
He tossed up driving after her or going on foot. If she heard his vehicle coming she would run into the bush to hide, and it was hard to keep track of her footprints while driving. But he would have to travel pretty fast to cut her off on foot, even if he took a shortcut. Perhaps he would drive part way and then cut over the last low hill, it was only about three hundred metres across but saved the best part of 2 kilometres on the road. That way, if he had not seen her from the car, he could come out alongside the track about two hundred yards from the main road. He was sure he would be in front of her there. From there he could work back, checking the road for tracks if he did not find her first. If she had turned off he would soon run her to ground.
Once he caught up with her and talked to her she would surely give his things back and drop her threats if he showed her he really meant it. Surely she was not so foolish as to try and run from a man with a gun.
He walked over to the car, checking for keys. The keys were nowhere to be seen, neither in the ignition nor on the seat. He checked the floor lest they had fallen out. They were not there. He really felt angry again. She must have taken his car keys to stop him following. It made sense, she was clever that way, but it made him much madder.
Well she had chosen the path he would follow. He would hunt her on foot, like a wild animal. He would go quickly to get in front and then set an ambush. His mind went back into predator mode.
Carrying his rifle, a light but powerful 223, he set off at a jog up the hill by the shortest route.
He would have to move fast to catch her before the main road, though even if she beat him to it he reckoned the odds were still well in her favour of stopping her or hunting her down. He would take the Kununurra option as it was closest. He imagined she would go that way, knowing its proximity; they had talked about that yesterday. She would be easy to find in a town that size, people remembered strangers and there were not many travel options on from there unless one kept hitching.
Even if she went back the other way he would soon find out from the roadhouses along the way, the car carrying her would surely stop at either Timber Creek or the Victoria River Roadhouse to break the 500 kilometre trip. All he needed to do was ring these two places from Kununurra. He knew their staff; they would let him know if she came through. Then he could grab a charter plane and be back in Katherine before her to greet her on her return, just when she least expected. She had a key to his flat and most of her things were there. So he was almost sure she would call there to collect her things. It would wipe the smile of her face if he was sitting there waiting for her.
All in all he was confident in his ability to run her to ground and give her a simple choice whichever way she went, his things back and nothing further said or else. Surely she was not stupid enough to defy him if it came to that.
By the time he had run these options through his head he had reached the top of the first rise and was breathing hard. He stopped and carefully surveyed the road below. It wound through the valley and then crossed a creek before it came around the point of the next low range which hid his view of the main road. There was no sign of her down there so he loped down to the road at a jog, cutting it at right angles. There were here footmarks in the soft bits, the same flat sandals. It appeared she was pushing herself to go fast, he saw places where she ran as well as places where she walked.
He needed to shorten the distance. It would take too long to follow her directly from behind. He headed cross country to the next hill at a faster jog, starting to breathe hard. His annoyance with her was rising for putting him through this; not burning anger but something colder and more implacable, the hunting crocodile was alive in his mind.
He came to the last hill and pushed himself up it, his chest and legs feeling the strain. He crested the rise, below him the road turned sharply away from the hill and headed straight for a bitumen strip a bare two hundred yards in front.
There she was, a hundred yards in front with another hundred yards until the black strip. He settled himself, took two deep breaths and called out her name, loud and clear, “Josie, Stop.”
She turned and looked back at him, seeming temporarily unsure. He gave her his best friendly wave, hoping to reassure her, willing her to stop. But she turned her head away and started to run.
There was a distant noise; it was a silver car which had crested the rise about a kilometre away. It was coming fast towards them. Josie had seen or heard it too. She seemed determined to get to the road in time to hail it, confident in her girl ability to stop it.
He could see she was running as fast as she was able, legs and arms flailing. Now she had a bare 50 yards to go. Twenty yards in front trees hid her from the main road, past them was open ground in full driver view.
He brought the rifle to his shoulder, steadied himself against a tree on the ridge. His gun was zeroed to this distance. Despite her running it was an easy shot. Her head and shoulders loomed large in the scope, trigger pressure. He could stop; let her go, find her another day if he wanted.
But crocodile hunting eyes filled his mind; now was his moment to take her, his prey. He pulled the trigger back.
The car roared past, unknowing.
He walked to the
place where she lay in the dust, suddenly so small and broken. He saw the round indent of the entry point where her neck met her head, through her parted hair.
The crocodile was gone from his mind. Overwhelming sadness remained as he looked at this broken body. He picked her up in his arms and walked with her back to the car, trying not to look at her face. It felt like he was carrying his little sister, she was so light.
He knew he had done something terrible, far more terrible than anything before. Despite her threats he could have let her go; even if she took the all his precious stones and diary and vanished it did not need to come to this.
But he had chosen to make it so. In that moment he knew a last shred of his humanity was gone and all that remained was his crocodile soul.
He buried her deep in a sand drift down on the edge of the desert, 300 miles south, after an all night drive.
It was just as the sun was rising. This was a special place for him. Rain had made this patch of desert into a carpet of flowers. He picked them by the armful and laid them over the disturbed sand. He knew she loved flowers for their beauty, she was always bringing them to his flat, to brighten it, she would say they were one of Gods most beautiful things.
They would wilt and shrivel in a day or two like her body already was. But it was the kindest thing he could think of to do for her. He hoped her soul would find a happier place than his in whatever existence followed.
He could not seek her forgiveness, it was past that time.
Two days later he came to the Top Springs Hotel. He was not the crying type but decided to drink a rum or two and remember her as he had liked her best, that street urchin he first found in Sydney.
He was joined at the bar by others, the drinks passed around in good humour, beers with rum chasers.
A loudmouth from her home town joined in, a man who always talked about how it was better down there. Mark had seen him a few times before when he was in the company of other girls, ones who had gone on their own way. He had also been there that lunch time when he and Josie passed through, a bare week before. There was something resentful in this bloke’s manner, as if her begrudged Mark’s success with the girls.
This man decided to make a joke at Mark’s expense. “How is it you are always with a fresh girl? Why do you keep changing them? What do you do, root them, shoot them and chuck them in a hole?”
This man laughed at his own joke and looked around, expecting to have his audience join in. There was silence.
Mark picked up his drink and flung it in this man’s face. The killing rage was burning in his mind, he could barely contain it. He spoke in a measured voice through gritted teeth. “If you ever say something like that again I will kill you. If you think you are a hero, meet me outside.”
He walked out the door leaving silence behind him.
Now he could hear raised voices. He waited at the edge of the light. A minute passed; the talking ceased.
The door swung open and this man stumbled out. The man’s eyes found his as he swore and cursed him. “Can’t take a joke, no one treats me like that and gets away with it. I will teach you some manners.”
Mark put his hands in his pockets, taking a fist full of coins in each. As the man came close he hit him twice with each hand, a left and right to the body and then as he bent forward a left and right to the face. All the power of his rage went through to his fists
The man crumpled to the ground with barely a sound.
Mark walked over to his car and drove away.
Part 6 - Amanda
Lost Girl Diary Page 33