‘Oh dear,’ said Ross, faintly. ‘Oh dear.’
‘Poor bugger,’ Del murmured.
‘Oh Christ.’ In an effort to steer clear of the Land Rover, Alec hadn’t been able to avoid glancing at it. Through the open front passenger window he had glimpsed the windscreen, which was frosted and cracked, and caked with sprays of thick blood. Crawling along, Alec was treated to a slowly unfolding scene of carnage as they drew level with it.
‘Oh, my God,’ he whispered, tears springing to his eyes. Chris had been shot in the head. His body was slumped over the steering wheel but his brains had been blown across the shattered windscreen. There were fibrous clumps . . . trailing gobs . . .
‘Oh Jesus,’ Alec hissed.
‘Keep goin.’ Even Del sounded disturbed; her voice was a croak. ‘Don’t stop, for God’s sake. Ross, watch the house.’
‘He’s dead,’ Alec groaned. ‘He – he has to be –’
‘Yeah. There’s not much we can do for him.’
They left the peppercorn tree behind. Alec had to rub his tears away with one hand, swallowing his panic. Ross was breathing in little gasps. Del, who had been aiming her gun at the dark and yawning entrance of the garage, now pointed it at a tumbledown shed that could have been a pen, or a coop. Alec didn’t spare it more than one glance, but Del said: ‘Dead dog, here.’ A pause. ‘I think. Dog or pig.’
‘It’s a slaughterhouse,’ Ross whispered.
‘Not too slow, Alec. Not yet.’
Alec obliged. Shock always caused him to slow down, but now he shifted his foot from the brake to the accelerator, and the ride became more bumpy. They turned before hitting the fence, followed a pair of tyre tracks around the back of the garage, and finally passed the house again. From the east, it looked inhabited; there were dog bowls, a peg basket, a pair of child’s thongs . . .
‘Look!’ Ross yelped. ‘Oh my God.’
‘What?’ Alec had been keeping his eye on the route ahead. ‘What is it?’
‘Stop the car,’ Del groaned.
‘Now?’
‘Stop it.’
Alec braked. He didn’t understand. They were easy targets – he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary . . .
‘A child,’ said Ross.
‘Eh?’ Alec looked around. ‘Where?’
‘There must be a kid somewhere,’ Ross explained. ‘Those shoes . . . on the back steps . . .’
‘I’ll send Mongrel out,’ Del announced, with an air of decision. All at once she sounded urgent – alarmed. ‘See if he can smell anything.’
‘You mean we’re stoppin?’ Alec asked. ‘Here?’
‘Good a place as any.’
‘But what about . . .’ Alec waved his hand, unable to form the words ‘Chris’ and ‘Graham’. His gesture, however, spoke volumes. ‘We’ll get to ’em later. There might be a kid.’ Del reached back, straining. She pushed open a rear passenger door on the right hand side. ‘Gorn. Mongrel. Bad man. Bad man,’ she barked. Mongrel uttered a yip in response. There was a rush of furry limbs and a blast of warm dog-breath, and suddenly Mongrel was out of the car.
‘But what if there’s someone around?’ Alec protested.
‘If there is, we’ll see ’im from here,’ Del replied. ‘Look at the scrub out back, there. Wouldn’t hide a mouse. Ross can watch the garage, you can watch the north end, and I’ll watch the house. Easy.’
‘I don’t think this is wise,’ said Ross.
Alec said nothing. He sat with his fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, his eyes smarting, his heart beating like a hammer in his throat and temples. Everything was so real – the stabbing glare of sunlight on chrome, the texture of the unravelling upholstery, the smell of dust and petrol and Del’s BO – but it had to be a nightmare. It had to be. It couldn’t be happening.
Mongrel strayed across his line of vision, nose to the ground. Then the dog circled back again, still pursuing a scent. He had a lazy kind of droop to his back, an easy shuffle, a floppy tail. He didn’t look too nervous, Alec thought.
Alec was nervous. He was practically peeing himself. Any minute, he expected to hear the crack of a shot. A scream. A bark.
But the silence stretched on and on.
CHAPTER 12
They were all waiting.
Noel was waiting in Ross’s car. Every door was standing open, and Noel was sitting on the front passenger seat, fiddling with Verlie’s transistor radio. It was a combined radio and tape player which ran on batteries, but the only thing coming out of it was static. The batteries weren’t flat; Noel had successfully played one of Verlie’s cassette tapes on it, earlier – Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath My Wings. So something else was wrong.
Linda and Rosie were waiting in the caravan. They were playing ‘scissors, paper, rock’. Louise was waiting with them, stretched out on a convertible couch, reading a TV guide. Peter had settled onto the back seat of Ross’s car, where he was listening to music on a pair of headphones, one finger twitching back and forth like a metronome. Tick, tick, tick.
Verlie couldn’t keep still. She paced to and fro, from the caravan to the car and back again, stopping sometimes to glance at her watch, sometimes to sip at a glass of water, which she had left beside the sink, and sometimes to peer down the road. She was worried about Ross. She was very worried about Ross. He had left with Del and Alec just before seven, and it was now – she was counting the minutes – it was now twenty to nine.
She stopped beside Noel.
‘They’ve been too long,’ she said.
Noel looked up from her radio.
‘It’s been nearly two hours,’ she went on. ‘They said an hour. Why aren’t they back yet?’
Noel’s gaze flitted towards his son, but Peter lay with his eyes closed, lost in music. Verlie was almost past worrying about the children, at this stage. She had spared the girls her fretting, because Rosie was so young; Peter, however, was a different story. He was – what? Thirteen? Fourteen? Old enough to be aware that things weren’t right.
‘I don’t know why they’re not back yet,’ Noel said quietly. ‘Maybe they had a flat tyre. It’s not out of the question – that car’s in such a state.’
‘Do you think they’ve run out of petrol?’
‘I don’t know.’
Verlie pushed the palms of her hands together. It was what she always did when her nerves were shot. Though she didn’t want to utter the words – and thereby give voice to her growing fears – they were at last forced out of her by the pressure of her anxiety.
‘You don’t think anything’s happened?’
‘I don’t know, Verlie.’
‘Can’t we do something?’
She spoke more loudly than she had intended, and her exclamation must have penetrated the padding of Peter’s headphones. He took them off, opening his eyes. He sat up.
Noel’s own eyes flickered as he registered the movement in the back seat.
‘What do you suggest we do?’ he queried, mildly, but with a hint of reproach that was entirely related to Peter and his peace of mind.
‘Go after them,’ said Verlie.
‘Go after them?’ Noel echoed.
‘They might be in trouble, don’t you think?’
‘Well, yes, but . . . I mean, we don’t have much petrol here. We don’t know where they are. If they have run into trouble, they’re a lot better equipped to deal with it than we are.’ Noel studied her sympathetically from behind his steel-rimmed spectacles. ‘I know that you must be worried, Verlie, but I don’t think we should move anywhere just yet,’ he said. ‘That car of Del’s could easily have blown a fuse or a gasket, or something. It probably shouldn’t be on the road.’
‘You think they’ve broken down?’
‘If they have,’ Noel advised her, ‘Del’s bound to be able to fix the problem. She strikes me as being very capable.’
‘And she’s got all those spare parts,’ Peter broke in. ‘I saw them. She told me she could start a car with a
torch battery, and fix a radiator hose with the skin of a kangaroo tail.’
‘Uh – yes.’ Noel cleared his throat. Verlie could see from his expression that, like Verlie, he regarded such wild claims as wholly fabricated. Nevertheless, he was convinced that Del wouldn’t be at all stumped by a leaking fuel line or a broken spring. He said so. ‘I wouldn’t get too worried for a few hours yet.’
Verlie wondered if he was saying this simply to reassure his son. She thought: It’s all right for you. You’re with your family. Though it was unfair, she resented him for being unable to leave his small children. Linda had kicked up a stink, when he’d suggested it, but she had agreed – as had Verlie – that Del should not be travelling alone with Alec. So Ross had been sent along with them, and now Verlie was regretting her concern for Del. What did Del matter? Ross was Verlie’s husband. He had promised to be back in an hour, and now here it was, almost two hours later, and he hadn’t returned.
It’s our car, she wanted to inform Noel. It’s our car and our caravan. You people are hitchhikers.
She couldn’t bring herself to say it, though. Instead she asked, ‘When should we start to be concerned, then? In your opinion?’ And she managed to inject quite a lot of sarcasm into that simple inquiry.
Noel frowned. He sighed, and looked at his watch. ‘Well . . . I don’t know,’ he said. ‘When did they leave? Seven? I suppose . . . maybe . . . eleven o’clock?’
‘Eleven o’clock?’
‘Someone’s bound to pass before then, Verlie.’
And Noel was right. Because at twenty past nine, when Verlie was nervously and fruitlessly trying to read (her eyes couldn’t seem to get a grip on the lines of print) she heard the sound of a car approaching. At first she assumed that it must be Del’s car. Leaping from her seat in the breakfast nook, she hurled herself down the caravan steps, ahead of Louise. But she soon realised that the vehicle – whatever it was – must be approaching from the north, not the south. Noel was already on the road, facing Broken Hill. Linda was standing with her eyes shaded, peering in the same direction; she had left the caravan earlier, to entertain Rosie with a game of hopscotch.
Louise ran to her mother’s side.
‘Is someone coming?’ the girl demanded.
‘Yes,’ Linda rejoined.
‘Is it Del?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Noel began to wave. He stepped back from the roadside as an approaching shape became visible. Rose, unfazed, kept skipping and jumping, each movement triggering a slap of rubber soles. Her hopscotch squares had been drawn in the dirt with a stick.
‘They’re slowing down!’ Linda cried.
‘Oh, please stop,’ Verlie muttered. ‘Please stop.’
The car was a hatchback, navy blue. Verlie didn’t know much about cars, but she did see the word ‘Mazda’ spelt out over this one’s number plate. It was quite a new car, she thought, with tinted windows and fancy wheels. There were two people inside it.
The driver was a young man, blonde, wearing a most intimidating pair of reflective sunglasses. Verlie took an instant dislike to him for that very reason; she regarded reflective sunglasses as insulting and antisocial. But he had a pleasant voice, and was at least polite enough to stop and wind down his window.
Not that he had much choice, with Noel practically blocking the way ahead.
‘Are you in trouble?’ the young man inquired.
‘Yes, we are.’ Noel hurried towards him, followed by Linda, Verlie, Louise, Peter – even Rose. The effect was not unlike birds descending on a worm, and the young man seemed to flinch a little, whereupon Noel waved his family back. ‘We’re in a great deal of trouble. Did you just come from Broken Hill?’
‘That’s right.’
‘When did you leave?’
‘Oh . . .’ The young man turned his head, as if to consult the person next to him. It was a woman, as far as Verlie could make out – a young woman with dark hair. She too was wearing sunglasses, but they were black. ‘Georgie, when did we leave? About twenty minutes ago?’
‘Twenty minutes?’ Linda exclaimed, in astonishment and dismay. Verlie could sympathise with her feelings.
‘Maybe half an hour,’ the young man amended. ‘Something like that. Why? Is that where you’re heading?’
‘We can’t get through,’ Peter blurted out, before Noel silenced him with a gesture.
‘There are a lot of people stuck on this road at the moment,’ Noel tried to explain. Though his tone was calm and reasonable – though his expression was benign and his gaze obviously intelligent – Verlie was aware that, no matter how Noel phrased it, his story was going to sound absurd. She almost winced in anticipation. ‘For some reason, no one seems to be able to reach Broken Hill – or Coombah. We’ve all run out of petrol. We all spent hours and hours driving, yesterday, and this is as far as we got.’
‘Uh-huh,’ the young man said enigmatically. His face was bland. Beside him, however, Georgie shifted in her seat, and sighed.
‘I know what you must be thinking,’ Noel went on, ‘but the fact is we had to camp here overnight –’
‘And there’s been a shooting,’ Linda interrupted. She elbowed her husband out of the way, stooping to address the young man. ‘Down the road, at a place called Thorndale. A truck driver went there, found the bodies – we can’t report it because our phones won’t work, and we can’t get through to Broken Hill –’
‘Hang on. Wait a second.’ The young man lifted his hand, looking bewildered. ‘Did you say a shooting?’
‘That’s what the truck driver said.’
‘What truck driver?’
‘Guy called Alec Muller,’ Noel began.
‘He’s down the road now, with Verlie’s husband, and a woman called Del Deegan,’ Linda interjected. ‘They’re all in the same boat as us.’
‘Del still has some petrol,’ Noel finished, trying desperately to paint a coherent picture. ‘They went to investigate something, and they should have been back an hour ago. We don’t know what’s happened to them.’
‘Ambrose.’ The woman inside the car suddenly spoke. Her posture was that of somebody whose patience has been strained beyond endurance. She sat with the fingers of her left hand pressed against her forehead, her left elbow propped on the windowsill. ‘Tell them we’ll call the fucking NRMA, or whatever.’
Linda recoiled. Verlie was appalled; she couldn’t believe her ears. Ambrose cleared his throat, and smiled sheepishly.
‘Uh – yes,’ he said. ‘Right. When we get to Coombah, we’ll call the NRMA for you. They’re bound to have a phone at Coombah. We’ll call the police, too, if you want.’
‘But that’s the whole point.’ Noel’s tranquil façade was beginning to crack; he was beginning to sound anxious. ‘You might not be able to get through. We couldn’t yesterday. And even if you turn around, you might not be able to return to Broken Hill either. There’s something very peculiar going on.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ Georgie remarked, in a loud voice.
‘I’ve filled up the tank,’ Ambrose pointed out, reassuringly. ‘I think we have enough to get us where we’re going.’
‘Well I hope so,’ said Noel. ‘But I wouldn’t depend on it.’
‘You should go back to Broken Hill. If you can,’ Linda advised. ‘Really.’
‘But what about Ross?’ Verlie broke in. She couldn’t believe it. Had they forgotten about her husband? ‘If they keep going, they might see Del’s car. They might be able to help –’
‘Ambrose.’ This time Georgie was almost shouting. ‘I’ve got a headache. Let’s go.’
‘Now listen.’ Linda had had enough of Georgie. That much was clear from the way she spoke, sharply, as she sometimes spoke to her children. ‘We’re not doing this for our own amusement, okay? This is very serious. It involves us all.’
‘Yes of course,’ Ambrose said in soothing accents. ‘And we’ll do our bit. As soon as we reach Coombah, we’ll make the necessary calls
, all right?’
‘And if you see an old station wagon, broken down, perhaps you can make sure everything’s all right?’ Verlie hastened to ask. ‘Perhaps even bring my husband and the others back here? I know it seems like an imposition, but they can’t have gone very far.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Ambrose was placating her; Verlie could tell. His smile looked painted on. ‘We’ll do what we can.’
‘It might be dangerous!’ Verlie exclaimed, for the hatchback was beginning to creep forward. ‘Someone’s been shooting people out there!’
‘Then we shouldn’t be hanging around,’ said Georgie, in what was supposed to be an undertone. As Linda shooed her children well away from the car, Noel walked along beside it.
‘It’s your choice, obviously,’ he said. ‘I probably wouldn’t believe me either, if I were you. But forewarned is forearmed, as they say. Do you have any spare petrol?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Georgie replied sarcastically. ‘I’ve got some in my purse.’
‘Don’t mind her,’ said Ambrose. ‘She has a hangover.’
‘Just keep in mind what we’ve told you,’ Noel pleaded. ‘If you don’t reach Pine Creek within half an hour, something’s wrong.’
‘Right. Okay.’
‘Turn back before you get stranded!’ Noel shouted, as the hatchback gathered speed. It roared off down the road, its driver’s hand sketching a wave from the window. In a minute or so, the car was out of sight.
Watching it disappear, Verlie felt like crying.
‘Do you think they’ll stop for Del and Alec and Ross?’ she whimpered.
‘God knows,’ Linda said shortly. She obviously wasn’t in a comforting mood. ‘What a pair.’
‘They were rude, weren’t they, Mum?’ Louise observed.
‘They were, sweetie. Very rude.’
Then Peter muttered something. It was practically inaudible, but Noel turned towards him anyway.
‘What’s that, Pete?’
Peter shrugged. ‘I just said, they’ll get what they deserve,’ he replied.
The Road Page 22