by Ashley Capes
Crossings
Ashley Capes
Crossings
Copyright © 2015 by Ashley Capes
Cover: Indigo Forest Designs
Layout and Typset: Close-Up Books & David Schembri Studios
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9925537-5-3
www.ashleycapes.com
Published by Close-Up Books
Melbourne, Australia
Chapter 1.
Lisa crouched by the tracks, frowning at the scuff marks as she brushed pale eucalypt leaves from gouges in the dirt. No bigger than a typical roo at a guess; what was old Pumps on about? A giant white kangaroo? Sounded like a myth. Maybe one in twenty thousand roos were albino, but no kangaroo stood three-metres tall. She wiped sweat from her face; even in the shade it had to be over thirty. More likely his eyes had failed him. Or the farmer was just after attention. Ever since his wife died, he could talk the legs off a chair.
She looked up at Pumps, who leant on his shovel, scratching at grey stubble. “What do you think then? Am I right? She’s big, isn’t she? I’ll be in the bloody Guinness Book of Records soon.”
“Hard to say, Mr Johnson. The tracks aren’t clear – the ground’s too hard.”
“Come on, give it a chance. I saw what I saw.”
“A bone-white roo heading into the trees, bigger than a horse?”
“Right.”
“Ah, what did it do?”
He pointed to the treeline, the messmate with its grey bark like corduroy, packed close to the fence. “She came down and must’ve kicked over the fence there. She was sniffing around. I was coming up around the shed; didn’t see her at first.”
Lisa nodded. Something had broken the fence, knocking two posts down and snapping the wire. The big shed, its corrugated iron rusted, stood beside an old tractor whose giant wheels were sinking into the grass. It was pretty far away and Pumps had to be in his seventies – were his eyes that good?
“Could have been kids or a tourist got lost and they broke the fence,” Lisa suggested.
“No tyre tracks.”
She nodded. Stupid. Of course. “Sure it wasn’t smaller?”
“Damn it, I’m not blind yet, Lisa. It was big. Too big. And that’s just the body. Standing straight she would have been four metres easy.”
Even two metres for a big, adult eastern grey was an upper limit, but Pumps was convinced so she didn’t argue. “Did you follow her?”
He grumbled. “Wanted to but my hip’s acting up.”
“Well, it won’t hurt for me to have a look, I guess,” she said.
“That’s what I said on the phone, girl.”
Girl? Granted, she wasn’t an old timer but she was hardly a ‘girl’ either. Lisa sighed; it didn’t really matter. “I’ll let you know what I find.” She stepped over the fence and ducked into the shrub, her Lidelson Wildlife shirt snagging on a branch, right at the paw print logo. She unhooked it and turned back to Pumps, who’d resumed hacking the earth. If his eyes were shot at least his body didn’t appear to be wearing out – he’d finish his new fence in no time at that rate.
Her boots crunched over leaves and twigs as she ducked and weaved between branches. There were no animal trails and not a lot of open space. A kangaroo as big as Pumps described would have a tight squeeze. She slipped between a pair of gums and pushed through a screen of leaves, the scent of eucalypt strong in the air.
The thud of Pumps’ shovel dulled as she moved deeper, finally pausing at an old trail. Its edges were overgrown and a fallen log crossed it – its surface thick with moss. Droppings lay at its base, not unlike a small pile of coal.
Only it wasn’t small. It was enough for three kangaroos.
The droppings were days old now and Pumps called this morning. By themselves they didn’t prove anything. Lisa climbed the log, heading along the trail, eyes roving the bush. The call of magpies echoed and she waved away a fly.
Still no real signs of the mysterious giant... “Wait a minute,” she murmured.
A tuft of fur lay pressed against the base of a big messmate. She strode over and plucked it free; it was coarse beneath her finger and thumb. Pale but not truly white. It could have been from a regular-sized kangaroo, or even a wombat.
Lisa pocketed the fur and completed a circle of the tree. Something had happened around it though, maybe a fight? Or a kill. The ground was torn, deep gouges and scuffmarks scattering decaying leaves. But there was no blood or other fur. Just a mess of earth and no clues as to why.
She started back and by the time she emerged, Pumps had paused to drink from a bottle, shovel driven into the earth beside him. He was sitting on an old stump but stood when he saw her. “Anything?”
“Not really.” She showed him the fur. “I found this but it’s not much.”
His eyes lit up when he saw it. “Gotta be proof, don’t it?”
“I’m not sure. It might not even be kangaroo fur and it looks grey to me.”
He frowned. “But you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, it probably is kangaroo but most likely from an old grey.”
“Looks white to me.”
“How about I get it tested?” Maybe on a slow day, anyway.
“That-a girl. We’ll be on the map before you know it.”
Lisa laughed. “If you say so. I think I’d rather the peace and quiet.”
“I hear you.” His nod was approving. “But it’d be nice to have just a taste of the spotlight too.”
“I did see something else.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear anything strange, like grunting or growling? I wonder if some roos weren’t fighting back there. Though they’d usually go for open spaces,” she said.
“Nope, nothing like that.”
She shrugged. “Well, I’ll head into town now and see what I can come up with.”
“Thanks for taking a look. But I haven’t given up yet; I saw her.”
“Maybe you should carry a camera around?”
He snapped his fingers. “Good idea.”
Lisa waved as she headed back to the ute. It needed a clean; dust smothered what was once white paint. Hopping in, she shot off a text to Robert at the centre, letting him know it was all clear, then headed down the bumpy road to the highway. Green flashed by, the roar of wind burying the radio as she drove, one elbow hanging out the window.
Strands of blonde whipped at her eyes and she tucked the hair behind her ear. Should have tied it back better. She slowed for a sharp corner and a police Land Cruiser flashed its lights as she passed. Lisa waved, only a glimpse of Gerry’s dark hair visible behind the wheel. Was there more trouble out at the Brown’s place? Idiots were always drunk, always fighting with the neighbours about something. Last week it was Billy Brown accusing the Healys of killing one of his sheep.
The brush began to recede as homes grew up around her, their sprawling yards, winding dirt driveways and thinning trees soon giving way to sealed entryways and rows of smaller houses, all basically the same but with variation of brick or roof colour. Living in each other’s pockets, Mum would have said.
She pulled into her own street of small-town architectural conformity, rolling up to her by-the-numbers two bedroom, grey roof, orange brick place and cut the engine. The ute’s clock gave her a prod: quarter to five; she only had an hour to get ready for work – the glamour of being a wildlife volunteer didn’t quite pa
y the bills.
As Lisa crossed the path to her home she stopped.
Something red lay in a heap on her doorstep. She crept closer, wrinkling her nose as the buzz of flies led her to a pile of animal entrails. Slick with blood, like mangled tubes from bike tyres, they stained the concrete.
“What the hell?”
She turned back to the street with a shudder. A kid chased a ball along the footpath but otherwise it was empty, quiet. Just the sun beating down on the road.
Who’d do such a thing?
Chapter 2.
The next day, Lisa found herself kneeling by the side of the road just out of town. An eye had been half-smeared across the road. Nestled beside pink flesh, tufts of fur and congealed blood, it was barely recognisable. The rest of the kangaroo lay twisted in a grassy ditch at the treeline, intestines in a slick trail that glistened under the noon sun. A thick stench hung over the road.
Seems there was no escaping blood and guts lately.
Last night she’d cleaned up the viscera as best she could but the stain remained on her doorstep and there was no way to know who was responsible. Probably just kids screwing around, a stupid prank. No use dwelling on it.
Lisa turned to the carcass in the ditch. Poor thing. It was common enough on Swallow’s Road with all its blind corners but still... She pulled her first glove on and glanced around at the grey trunks of the messmate and the paler gums.
“Robert?”
No answer from the bush. He wasn’t in the ute either. Probably relieving himself behind a tree somewhere.
At the ditch, she knelt by the body and checked the animal’s pouch. Thankfully, no joey. Whoever had called in the kill had probably left the roo where it tumbled but Lisa wasn’t lifting it into the ute by herself – not the largest kangaroo but still too awkward for one person to lift easily.
She turned back to the trees and shouted. “Robert, where the hell are you?”
A voice drifted back. “Coming.” The crunch of branches followed and within moments Robert clambered into view, his green jacket zipped up and his broad face apologetic. “Sorry. I had to go.”
“I guessed.” His long trip was meant to spare her, she supposed, but probably had more to do with his need for privacy. “No joeys, so we’ll take her straight to Anthony’s.”
He sighed. “Don’t people know who to call for road-kill?”
“Maybe she was alive when they called?”
He paused. “Good point. So, did you want to drag her off to the side? Good food for scavengers.” He asked his question in the tone of someone who knew the answer he was going to get.
“No, we’ll take her.”
“You’ll owe Anthony a year’s worth of diesel soon.”
“I know.”
“All right then.”
Together they lifted the roo, and with Lisa at the tail and Robert grimacing when he gripped the bloodiest end of the body, walked to the ute where they placed the kangaroo into the tray. Working quickly, she tied the roo down with rope taken from the toolbox then hesitated.
“I’ll just be a minute, Robert.”
“Last rites?” he said.
“Yeah.”
He nodded and busied himself disposing of bloody gloves before hopping into the cab. Lisa peeled off her own gloves then removed a small bag from her jacket. From within she took a large pinch of salt, sprinkling it over the body. The tiny white grains slipped between the fur. “Watch over her,” she said.
To who, it didn’t matter; only that she said it.
Jumping into the cab, she fired the engine and switched the radio off, falling into the rhythm of easing off before corners, accelerating out again. A little way down the road Robert glanced at her.
“What is it?” She didn’t take her eyes from the black strip of road cutting through the green.
“Why do you always do that?”
“No-one else does.”
“No, I mean, the salt, not the ritual.”
She shrugged. “Dad used to do it with our pets. I guess I just got it from him.”
“Oh.” He reached for the cup holder, sipping the juice. “How is he?”
“The same.” Lisa kept her voice even.
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
They drove on in silence, her hands tight on the wheel and him drinking his orange juice. After about the fortieth sip, she had to laugh.
“I’m going to have to pull over soon, aren’t I?”
He blinked. “What? Why?”
She laughed again. “All that juice.”
“Yes ma’am, point taken.” He lowered the bottle. “I meant to ask you before; what did old Pumps have to say? Did he really believe he saw a giant kangaroo?”
“He thinks he’s going to be in the Guinness Book of World Records.”
“Right.”
“I have some fur but I think it’s from a grey. There might have been something fighting on his property, but.”
“Well, I won’t hold my breath for another appearance of his mystery roo.”
The trees soon began to thin as they neared town. A wooden sign sat right beside the road. Painted brown, its white letters were filled with lichen but still managed to spell out ‘Lidelson.’ The claim of being a ‘Gateway to the Alpine Region’ was less fortunate, having long since been swallowed but for the tips of the capital letters.
Anthony’s clinic waited just on the edge of the town proper, appearing after a long bend in the road lined by young gums. The building was wide, its peaked roof dotted with solar panels and its windows flashed sunlight as they pulled up around back.
Half-concealed by green Banksia flowers that lined the rear of the property was the incinerator. Dark and large as a truck trailer with a chimney, it lay silent for now, but wouldn’t stay quiet for long. Lisa hopped out of the ute and knocked on the back door while Robert worked on the ties.
Anthony answered. Dressed in a white smock with gloves hanging out of a pocket, the vet had impeccably groomed silver hair. He chewed on a sandwich. “Lisa.” He glanced over at the ute. “Got another one?”
“Roo today. She had no joeys at least.”
“Well, your timing’s good. I’ve got a cremation later on, feel free to add your roo.”
“Thanks, Anthony.” He was a good guy. Usually only city vets incinerated road-kill but Anthony had always indulged her – animals deserved dignity in death. And she knew the council-practice of leaving road-kill to feed other animals was all part of the cycle of life and death. She knew it. Knew it a hundred times over but still...there was something cold about just leaving them there... Maybe she would buy some fuel for Anthony next time.
“You got any more calls today?” Anthony asked.
“Not yet. Gonna try have lunch back at the office for a change.”
Anthony grinned. “It’s not that good – someone always interrupts.”
“Very funny.” She smiled back. “We’ll get going then.”
He waved as he stepped back inside.
Lisa returned to the ute, where she helped Robert carry the body to the bulky incinerator. The roo slumped into the dark hollow with a thud. Better than the side of the road at least. She sighed, signalling to Robert. “Let’s go then.”
“Want me to drive?” he asked, wiping his hands on his pants.
“I’m fine. Besides, you’re a little slow and I’m hungry.”
He snorted as she took the driver’s seat, woke the engine and pulled around the front of the building. She flicked the indicator on at the turn and waited, glancing at the empty road. One of the guideposts was missing its red reflector. Maybe lunch at the centre was a bad idea. Dad hadn’t called today. Was he all right? Damn it, if he’d fallen again or even if –
“Lisa?”
She blinked.
“Huh?”
“You right? There’s no-one coming.”
“Right.” She pulled onto the highway and headed for the town centre. Traffic slowed them when they passed the quiet supermarket, and she stared into an interstate numberplate – one of the old yellow ones.
“Take Foster Street,” Robert said. “You can skip the light.”
She glanced at him. “You mean Lidelson’s single traffic light?”
“It bugs me,” he said with a shrug.
Lisa obliged, turning into the narrow street and pulling into the Wildlife Station mere moments sooner than they would have otherwise. Robert appeared pleased so she didn’t say anything, though she hid a smile.
A little Honda waited in the shade of the earthen car park and a woman paced before the locked office. Her handbag hung from a low branch of the gum that spread its canopy over the roof of the small building. Lisa squinted – it looked like Steph – was she okay? Her blonde curls bounced as she approached, feet crunching on gravel set between wide paving slabs.
“Lisa, good,” Steph said when she reached them. Her face was worried. “I didn’t think you’d ever be back. I saw your sign so I waited.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked. The ‘Back at 2pm’ sign rested against the glass, right beneath the Wildlife paw-print logo and phone number. Maybe they were a little late after all.
“It’s Ben; he’s back.”
A chill ran through her blood.
No. It’d been years. He’d moved away. Things had been better. Lisa felt her hand drift to a long scar inside her forearm, as if moving of its own volition. “What did he want?”
Steph took her hand, the warmth welcome. “I was at the bank – he’s buying a house and moving back. Apparently he made some money in real estate.” She lowered her voice. “He said he wants to see you.”
No way was that going to happen. “Fat chance.”
Steph kissed Lisa’s cheek. “Good girl. I just wanted to give you a heads up. I have to get back to the cafe.”
“Thanks.”