by Mark Smith
The forest beyond the outcrop is too thick to see any distance, so we stop and listen.
Nothing.
JT is the first to speak. ‘I reckon we should climb up on the rock and see what we can see. Going downhill might be safest.’
We skirt around the eastern side that’s in full sun now. Not wanting to risk getting trapped in the gap in the rock, Willow leads us up another way. She knows every crack and ledge.
When we reach the viewing area, we shimmy forward on our stomachs until we can see out to the plain.
The truck the Wilders arrived in has moved a few hundred metres back the way it came and now sits on the side of the road. A figure stands on the cabin roof. Binoculars glint in the morning sun. To the west, four figures walk down through the trees towards the truck. One is taller and thinner than the others—it’s Winston. To the east, in the direction of Wentworth, the paddocks are clear.
We back away and sit looking at each other. The rock is already warm, even though the sun’s only been up for an hour, and we know we’re in for another hot day. There’s no sign of the rain from yesterday.
‘Wils,’ I say. ‘We’re going to Wentworth to find Kas and Daymu.’
She doesn’t hesitate. ‘I’m coming with you.’
JT looks doubtful.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘She’ll keep up.’
Willow looks pissed off that I even have to say this.
I remember Gabriel’s yellow, crusty eyes. ‘Wils, has Gabriel been sick?’
She looks at me, curious. ‘He was out on the plain with a couple of others. When they came back their eyes were sore from the dust.’
‘Have you been close to him? Touched him?’
‘Why?’
‘Just tell me. It’s important.’
‘No. Gabriel spent most of his time with Tahir.’
JT nods at me. ‘Come on,’ he says.
We’re about to start the climb down when I remember something else. ‘The live trackers?’ I ask JT. ‘Should we leave them here?’
‘That’d be a bit hard,’ he says. ‘They’ll be in Wentworth by now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re a bit slow sometimes, Finn,’ he says. He pauses while I try to figure it out.
It hits me. ‘The other truck!’ I say. ‘That’s what you were doing when you dived under it.’
He winks. ‘Yep, two trackers heading straight for Wentworth, stuck up under the tray of a cattle truck. Every time they check, Finn Morrison and Jeremy Tutton will be in Wentworth. What’ll really confuse them is when the truck does its next trip to Longley!’
Willow’s got no idea what we’re talking about. ‘Never mind, Wils,’ I say. ‘I’ll fill you in on the way.’
‘There’s something we have to get first,’ she says, climbing down off the rock and into the bush again. We walk for about five minutes, keeping an ear out for the Wilders returning. Eventually, Willow stops and ducks under a low branch. She brushes dead ferns and leaves from a sheet of corrugated iron, then flips it over to expose a hole the size of a grave. There’s something wrapped in a moth-eaten blanket. Willow unrolls a rifle and a box of bullets. Then she reaches into the hole again and pulls out a bow and half a dozen arrows tied together with a strip of leather. There are only ten bullets. I empty them into my pockets.
‘Ready?’ Willow says. She sets a course above the tree line, heading east; the morning sun is in our eyes when it pierces the canopy. She’s fast—she finds gaps in the bush JT and I can’t even see. Moving behind her, I notice she’s grown since last year. I don’t remember her being this tall, or her legs as long. Her skin is tanned a deep brown and her hair is tied in a thick ponytail with baling twine.
When she eventually stops to allow us to catch up, JT drops next to her. He’s puffing, but she’s hardly broken a sweat. ‘How old are you?’ he asks.
‘Not sure,’ she says. ‘Maybe eleven now.’
‘Eleven!’ JT says.
Wils shrugs.
‘We have to find water,’ I say, scanning the highway below. ‘We can’t keep going at this pace without it.’
The wind has picked up too, a northerly bringing more heat and dust from the plains. We’re already thirsty and we haven’t eaten since last night.
‘We’ve got to keep moving,’ JT says. ‘The Wilders will eventually work out we’re not with the No-landers. And they’ll guess where we’re heading.’
He barely finishes before we pick up the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine. We crawl down towards the paddocks. The truck is inching its way along the highway. A second figure has climbed onto the cabin roof and they’re both looking up towards us.
‘Wils, do you know the country between here and Wentworth?’ I ask.
‘Most of it,’ she says. ‘The bush gets thicker. Plenty of cover but harder to travel through. There’s one problem but I’ll explain when we get to it.’
‘What is it?
‘You’ll see,’ she replies.
We climb a little higher towards the ridge, but not so far that we can’t see the paddocks. We need to know what the Wilders are doing. The terrain’s not steep and the undergrowth is dry after the long summer. But hunger and thirst are slowing us down, and the rifle I’m carrying is getting heavier by the minute. Before long we stumble across another outcrop of rocks blocking our path. Willow climbs onto the rocks and has a look around.
‘Come on, Wils,’ I say. ‘We have to keep moving.’
‘Wait,’ she says, ducking between two large boulders and motioning for us to follow. There’s a series of ledges protected from the sun and on one of them a shallow indent holds some of last night’s rain. We take it in turns, slurping loudly as we drink. I’m the last, draining the water and sifting the mud between my teeth.
Willow sticks both her hands in the mud and smears it onto her face and arms. ‘Camouflage,’ she says.
The rest of the morning is a blur of sweat and scratched skin and my rumbling stomach. As Willow predicted, the forest has become thicker. It’s hard to tell how much distance we’ve covered but at least I know every step is a step closer to Kas. Every time I feel I can’t go any further, I think of her and what she must be going through.
After a couple of hours, the trees begin to thin again. We slow our pace, worried about being seen. When we edge forward we discover a valley intersecting our route east. Bare paddocks lead down to a farmhouse by a dry creek bed. A dirt road winds along the valley floor, past the house and over a rise, heading south. On the other side, there’s more open ground before the safety of the trees. We can’t see how far the valley stretches towards the main range.
‘I’m guessing this is the problem you were talking about?’ JT says to Willow.
She nods.
We sit for a few minutes, getting our breath and calculating how quickly we could make it down to the farmhouse, then up to the ridge.
‘It’s risky,’ I say. ‘But it could take us the rest of the day—or longer—to walk around. We could make it down in a couple of minutes. The climb would be slower but ten minutes max and we could be back in the trees and on our way.’ In the back of my mind a little alarm bell rings—I’m making quick decisions designed to get us to Wentworth as quickly as possible, rather than focusing on staying safe. I just want to find Kas.
‘I’m with you,’ JT says. ‘Willow?’
Willow is about to speak when we see a cloud of dust rising off the dirt road, coming from the direction of the highway. As the truck reaches the top of a small hill, the thrum of its motor overtakes the sound of the wind in the trees. It’s crawling along, the lookouts still perched on the roof, the flaps billowing at the rear of the canopy. It slows further as it approaches the farmhouse, then turns through the gateway and stops in the yard. Straightaway, a dozen men spill from the back. They make a beeline for the tank and the tap is turned on. Water gushes out and they wrestle with each other to get at it. One Wilder peels off his shirt and the water sprays over hi
s body.
It hurts to watch. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and my lips are cracked and sore.
‘You reckon they know we’re watching this?’ JT asks.
‘Fair bet,’ I say. ‘They always seem to be one step ahead of us.’
The cabin door on the truck opens and Tusker climbs down, carrying a rifle. He ignores the other Wilders by the tank and walks to the end of the yard. He lifts the rifle to his shoulder and, aiming somewhere to our right, shoots into the trees. He pauses before firing again, this time a little closer to our position. Two more shots, then he’s aiming directly at us. We flatten ourselves to the ground as a bullet whistles over our heads. He fires another three shots away to our left.
‘He knows we’re here somewhere,’ I say.
‘But not exactly where,’ JT says. ‘He’s trying to spook us into showing ourselves.’
‘Either way,’ I say, ‘we’ll have to climb around the valley.’
‘Maybe not,’ Willow says.
‘Sorry, Wils,’ I say. ‘It’s our only option.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she says. ‘What if we go the other way? Back out towards the highway—cut across the mouth of the valley.’
JT has picked up on her thinking. ‘They’ve probably left guards at the turn-off on the highway, but there might be enough cover for us to get through between here and there.’
Willow’s smart. I wouldn’t have thought of this.
‘At least we can check it out,’ I say.
One thing goes unspoken—water. The farmhouse tank could have supplied it, but now we’ll have to go without. We turn back into the trees, crawling the first few metres until we’re sure we can’t be seen from below. Once we get to our feet we set off at a jog, weaving through the undergrowth to find the easiest route.
It only takes a few minutes to reach the tree line to the north. A small rise hides us from the farmhouse. We can see as far as the intersection where the dirt road meets the highway. Sure enough, there are two men standing in the middle of the bitumen, rifles across their shoulders. The paddocks here are dry and bare of grass but there are trees dotted through them.
‘One at a time or all together?’ JT asks.
‘One at a time,’ I say, although I’m not convinced either option will work.
Willow turns and sprints for the first tree, her bow across her shoulders and the arrows in one hand. JT follows. He continues to the next tree, which has a large bough that’s fallen to the ground. He slides in behind it and signals to me.
I take a last look at the Wilders on the highway, hold the rifle out in front of me and start my run. My legs are heavy—maybe from the lack of water and food, but just as likely from fear. I drop behind the tree with JT, while Willow moves further down the hill. We leapfrog each other like this until there are no trees between the highway and us. From here, we can see a concrete drain running under the dirt road. It’s hard to tell how wide it is, but if we can fit through we can get to the paddock on the other side. I point it out to JT and Willow.
I can see the two Wilders better from here. They’re sitting by the signpost at the intersection. Maybe the heat’s getting to them, too. Sweat smears the dirt on our faces and arms.
We’re about thirty metres from the drain when we hear the truck coming.
‘Go!’ I say, and we sprint for the side of the road.
The drain is about a metre wide but it’s partially blocked with clumps of grass and dirt. I scramble in feet-first, pushing the debris ahead of me. Willow and JT crawl in behind and we wait for the truck to pass overhead. It takes forever to reach us, finally rumbling over the top of us and moving on towards the intersection.
But the sound of the motor stays within earshot. They must have stopped. We can only guess at what’s happening but about five minutes pass before the truck crosses us again, retracing its route to the farmhouse.
‘Maybe they changed the guards,’ JT whispers.
I brace myself against the concrete walls and start kicking at the debris blocking the drain. Slowly, the sand and grass and branches give way and I see daylight. I shuffle forward but freeze when I hear voices and the sound of boots on gravel.
‘You tell him,’ one voice says.
‘Yeah, sure,’ another replies. ‘Tell Tusker he’s got it wrong? He’d love that. Probably shoot me for my trouble.’
‘Nah, he wouldn’t. Cut your balls off, maybe.’
Both men laugh.
‘They’ll be with the rebels by now. Way up in the main range. We’re not gonna find them out there.’
‘I know, but orders are orders. Come on. This’ll do.’
The men drop off the side of the road and we can see the backs of their legs as they begin to walk through the paddock we’ve crossed. When they’re out of sight I push the rifle ahead of me and squeeze through the gap at the end of the drain. Willow passes me her bow and arrows and I pull her out. Finally, JT emerges.
Men have been dropped at intervals along the road and are climbing the paddock. The truck has reached the rise and stopped. Looking the other way, I can’t see any sentries at the intersection.
‘Let’s wait until they reach the trees and then make our run,’ JT says.
Every few minutes we check on the Wilders’ progress. Eventually, they reach the top of the paddock and disappear into the trees.
Ahead of us a wide stretch of open ground rises to where the canopy merges with the undergrowth. If we make it without being seen we can put some real distance between us and the Wilders.
‘Ready?’ I say. JT and Willow nod. Then we break cover and run.
All the way up, I’m expecting to hear shouts from across the valley, even gunshots, as the Wilders spot us. We stick close together, in case one of us falls or needs help. Adrenaline kicks in and gets even the most tired muscles pumping.
By some miracle, we make it to the trees without being seen. We plunge into the bracken and collapse onto our hands and knees. JT is panting heavily and Willow dry retches. I roll onto my back and try to focus, but everything is spinning.
It takes a while to recover but when we’ve got our breath we crawl to where we can see into the valley. The truck is turning around and the Wilders haven’t reappeared from the forest on the opposite ridge. The hot wind whips the trees above our heads and lifts dust off the dirt road in great whirlwinds.
We’re exhausted but we’ll have to get going soon. JT and I have lain down again, trying to get some energy back into our bodies.
‘Oh no!’ Willow says suddenly.
We jump up and look across the valley. The Wilders have broken from the trees in one big group. Running. At the front, one of them holds a dog that’s straining at its lead, pulling him down the hill. It’s Rowdy. He follows our scent, tree by tree, sniffing and jumping around each fallen log before continuing to the next one. When they get to the drain under the road, the Wilder lets Rowdy off the lead. He bolts through and heads straight for us.
JT grabs the rifle out of my hands, slides the bolt and takes aim. I throw myself at him before he can shoot. ‘No! It’s Rowdy, it’s Rowdy.’
‘He’s leading them straight to us,’ JT yells above the wind. We struggle over the rifle, rolling on top of each other now, with Willow trying to pull us apart.
Rowdy lunges into the brush and jumps onto us. He’s so excited, barking, then licking my face. He recognises Willow and does the same to her. In the confusion I manage to prise the rifle out of JT’s hands. He gets to his feet and backs away.
‘What were you thinking?’ I scream. His face is red and he clenches his fists like he’s ready for a fight.
‘Jesus, Finn—look!’ he says, pointing down the hill.
The Wilders have climbed onto the road above the pipe, where the truck now waits. Tusker gathers them together, his arms waving, issuing orders again. Half of them get into the truck, while the rest drop off the bank and run towards us. Tusker climbs back into the cabin, drives to the intersection and turns righ
t, in the direction of Wentworth.
JT’s in my face. ‘Your dog’s gonna get us killed,’ he snaps.
‘But—’
Willow steps between us. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We’ve gotta move. Now!’
JT reels away, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath.
‘Which way?’ I say, slinging the rifle over my shoulder.
‘They must have guessed we’re heading for Wentworth,’ Willow says. ‘We could confuse them by backtracking.’ She points up the valley towards the farmhouse.
There’s no time to argue. We start running parallel to the dirt road, far enough into the trees not to be seen from below. We stick together, Rowdy at my heels.
As we get closer to the farmhouse, our pace slows. Adrenaline can only keep us up for so long. Every hot intake of breath burns my lungs. The image of the Wilders standing underneath the water tank keeps flashing into my head. I can almost taste the cool water pouring into my mouth, splashing my face.
Willow stumbles over a log. I stop and reach down for her but she shrugs my hand away and gets to her feet. Rowdy’s tongue lolls out the side of his mouth and he pants heavily.
‘Let’s hope we’ve outsmarted them,’ I manage to say. ‘Cos I don’t think we can outrun them.’
The farmhouse is directly below us now. It looks abandoned again. We peer back through the trees, trying to pick up the sound of the Wilders above the roaring of the wind.
‘I think we should split up,’ JT says.
‘We don’t have time for this, JT,’ I say, knowing he’s still angry with me. ‘We promised to stick together.’
‘That was before Rowdy gave us away,’ he says. ‘You’re too blind to see it, but we need to get rid of him.’ He nods his head towards the gun.
‘No way,’ I say. ‘Never!’
Rowdy hides behind my legs, like he knows he’s in trouble.
Willow stands with her feet apart and hands on hips. ‘Cut it out,’ she says. ‘You’re being stupid. They’d hear the shot.’
JT can’t look me in the eye. He scuffs at the ground with his boot.
‘We’re all in this together,’ Willow says, sounding final.