If she was being honest, stuff like that was what made her the angriest. Being sent to stay here was boring, sure, but it would have been alright if her parents could have at least been honest about it. Instead, they suddenly started acting like it would be great for Allie to spend time with a man they had no photos of around the house, about whom they had told her nothing even when she asked. She wondered how her dad had explained the situation to Frank. Probably that she was acting up, just because she’d stood up to Hannah Bond when she had blabbed about how all the other mums knew Allie’s mum was having an affair. Maybe Allie shouldn’t have hit her. Without Hannah, she wouldn’t have known.
Stuck out here, all she could do was think. Before, the situation with her parents had clouded her thoughts. Now, it was the girl who’d just arrived and what must have happened to her. She hadn’t even looked human, lying there on the table. More like something from a movie, a creature that crawled out of a swamp, all matted hair and blood. She shuddered. There on her own, the small roadhouse felt claustrophobic. The silence was the worst part; why didn’t Frank ever have music playing? It would brighten the place up a bit, at least. Then there’d be something to focus on apart from the smell and the heat and the never-ending road outside. Even when her grandfather was here, she felt alone. Isolated and far from the safety of the city.
Stupid thought. She pushed it away. She shouldn’t complain. Not after seeing what someone who was really in trouble looked like.
She had just reached into her pocket to take out her phone when she heard the screen door swing open. She looked up, surprised. There’d been no sound of a car.
A man stood in the entry, hands on his hips and eyes scanning the room. He was tall and thin. His skin was weathered and leathery. He wore a filthy suit jacket over a plain singlet tucked into his jeans. The fact that his grey hair was receding hadn’t made him think twice about growing it long.
His eyes landed on Allie and he grinned. There was nothing wrong with the grin, not that she could put her finger on anyway, but it made her want to back away. As he approached her, she had to force her feet to stay where they were.
‘Afternoon, love.’ He spoke with a relaxed drawl. ‘How you doin’?’
She shrugged, hoped that would be enough.
He stopped about a metre from the counter. He raised an eyebrow. ‘You here alone?’
‘My . . . my grandad’s out the back,’ she forced herself to say.
‘He must trust you a lot,’ the man said. ‘Letting you be the big boss.’
Allie didn’t reply. The man started walking again. He reached the counter and placed both hands flat on it. Allie couldn’t help herself. She took a step back.
If the man noticed, he didn’t let on. His grin grew. ‘Name’s Reg.’
Allie’s mouth felt very dry. ‘Would you like some fuel, Reg?’ Her eyes darted to the glass front. There was no car parked out there.
‘Just wanted to ask a couple of questions. That alright?’
Allie didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
Reg leaned forwards slightly. The grin faded. ‘You didn’t happen to see a girl pass through here, did ya?’
CHAPTER FOUR
Then
Simon woke to a splitting headache and momentary confusion about where he was. He tried to sit up only for pain to shoot through his temples. He lay back with a grimace. More gingerly this time, he sat himself up. He was in what seemed to be a small, musty motel room. It took him a minute to realise he wasn’t alone.
The fragments returned. More drinks at the pub, many more, then a stumble to the motel down the road. Shit, had he paid for it? He didn’t think so. He hoped not. He rubbed his eyes. Too many things to think about. He checked the bedside clock. Nearly midday. Shit.
Moving carefully, he slid out of bed, glancing back at Maggie, still under the covers. Trying to concentrate made his head hurt. They hadn’t had sex. He was a little disappointed, but by the time they’d got back to the motel he’d been too drunk to do anything other than pass out. But more concerningly, he had told her she could come with him. This strange girl who had walked into a bar in the middle of nowhere, who had claimed to be homeless and yet, he now remembered, had paid for the motel. How the hell did any of that work?
The cash.
The night was coming back in fits and starts, the order all wrong. The pool game, Maggie buying the drinks, a flash of seeing the money stuffed in her backpack.
He moved over to the door and, as slowly and quietly as he could, opened it. The day was sweltering. The clear blue sky seemed to flicker and shift above him, a probable combination of heat and hangover. The stretch of shops that had seemed quaint in the evening now looked garish and glaring, turned almost into floodlights by sun reflected in windows and off the metal of the parked cars. He already had a bad hangover sweat and this wasn’t helping. His stomach was churning and he knew he should eat, but the very thought of food made nausea rise. He covered his eyes with his hand and tried to order his thoughts.
Who was she? Aside from beautiful and funny and—
No. That line of thinking wasn’t going to help. He had to try to be clearheaded here. The night before he had been drunk and lonely; a warning sign like the bag of money was all too easy to ignore. Today, things looked different. Or at least, they were supposed to.
The fact was this: no normal person hitchhiked through the middle of nowhere carrying a bag of cash. All it took was the wrong person seeing it and you would be in serious danger. The only explanation that made any sense was if that potential danger paled in comparison to something else, something that made what Maggie was doing the safest choice. The problem was, it was very hard to work out what that something could be.
Simon rested his head back against the sun-warmed bricks of the motel, shielding his eyes from the brightness with one arm. Without wanting to, he was hearing what his parents would say. That he should be polite but firm, be honest about his concerns and say it was nothing personal but that he didn’t want any part of whatever trouble she was involved in. And she had to be in some kind of trouble, surely. The flash of wariness or whatever it had been when he first reached for her last night told him enough, or would have if he hadn’t been several pints in.
He took his hand away and, squinting against the light, looked up the road towards where his car sat. He could quietly slip back inside, gather up his stuff and be gone in ten minutes. She didn’t have his number; he doubted she even had a phone. She had more than enough money; he wouldn’t be screwing her over. He could put her out of his mind and be gone. He might feel bad for a day or two, but that would be it. Maggie would be a slightly weird memory, a vague ‘what if’ that he would exaggerate later for the sake of a better story.
And yet.
What kind of story would he have if he came back empty-handed, figuratively speaking? Hey guys, I drove across the country alone and it was pretty hot and boring but at least I saw a lot of paddocks. Maybe Maggie was trouble but looking at her he found it very hard to believe that she was a threat. Strange, maybe, but strange didn’t mean bad.
The door opened. Maggie stepped out. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
For a moment neither of them said anything.
‘Did you . . . did you still want to come?’ he asked.
‘I wasn’t that drunk.’
Simon managed to stop himself from punching the air. Given his concerns, this instinctive reaction was a surprise, but it really had been a long time without company.
They took turns to shower before gathering up their things and heading out into the early afternoon heat. There was a milk bar down the road where Simon did his best to keep down a slightly stale sandwich while Maggie, sitting across from him in silence, seemed to be managing a great impression of someone not hungover.
Stomach roiling, Simon led Maggie to the car. As she stepped into the station wagon, Maggie picked up Simon’s map from the passenger seat. She unfolded it with a r
aised eyebrow. ‘Very authentic.’
He couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be mocking or not. ‘I wasn’t sure if I’d have reception. Call it a plan-B map.’
‘Whatever you say, Kerouac.’
With the engine running, it felt like a furnace inside but thankfully the air conditioner eventually kicked in for once and soon the temperature had dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of comfortable.
They drove in silence. Out the window, the landscape was much the same as it had been before the town. Paddocks, brown grass, tufts of trees and occasionally the almost translucent blue shape of a distant mountain. Somehow, Simon felt almost embarrassed by this. The lack of variety had been okay when it was just him, but he felt weirdly responsible for the fact that their trip hadn’t got off to a more interesting start. Maggie reached over him and retrieved the map from his door pocket. She opened it out and looked it over for a few minutes, before re-folding it and stuffing it in the glovebox. Eventually Simon put the radio on, but out here the best they got was crackling country tunes interspersed with tired old voices complaining about the weather or the state of the country. Sometimes he would glance sideways at Maggie, who had not turned away from her window. He could make out her reflection: thoughtful and maybe a little sad. Sometimes, however, he imagined he noticed a change. A hint of alertness, eyes focused on something. Those instances passed too quickly for Simon to know what to make of them.
They stopped to get a drink at a run-down takeaway shop and sat outside beneath a faded umbrella. He couldn’t seem to think of anything to say, but then Maggie didn’t seem especially talkative. He supposed that was okay. He didn’t mind silence. He just hoped that she didn’t think he was boring.
Finally, as the afternoon went on and the heat slowly softened, he figured he had to speak.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ he said. ‘Considering the hitchhiking and all?’
She didn’t reply straight away. Her eyes remained on the window. ‘Nowhere, really,’ she said. ‘Maybe north. Somewhere tropical. I don’t know.’ She turned to look at him. ‘What about you? Do you have an idea of where you’re going to find this country?’
He blushed involuntarily. Telling her his idea might have been what convinced her to join him, but he wished he hadn’t been so honest. When she said it aloud, it sounded dumb.
‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘I just figured it wasn’t in Melbourne.’
‘I suppose not. It’s a pretty awful city.’
He was a little taken aback by that. He didn’t love Melbourne, but it was no worse than any other city. As far as they went, it seemed like one of the better ones.
‘Any reason for feeling that way?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she replied, but didn’t add anything else.
They kept driving until another sunset became another evening then another night. Aware that Maggie might not have quite grasped what the sleeping arrangements would be, he admitted that he only had one swag and tried not to make it come out the wrong way.
‘If we find another motel, I’ll pay for it,’ she said. ‘If not, no worries. It’s warm enough to sleep under the stars.’
The morning’s doubts threatened to rise again. Had he made a mistake?
It soon became clear that there was no town and no motels in the area, just wide grassy fields to either side, stretching boundless under the brilliant starry sky.
‘What about there?’ Maggie said, pointing to the centre of one of the fields.
‘Why there?’
‘It’s as good a place as any.’
He still felt strange turning off the road onto the grass, the old car protesting against the unfamiliar ground below it with warning creaks at every bump. He supposed there were no signs telling him it was illegal, but it seemed a little odd, parking so far off the road with only half-dead grass and occasional trees in every direction.
Maggie set about digging a hole in the ground to light a small fire, which Simon was pretty sure was illegal, but he was a little too fascinated by the ease with which she did it to care. Some dead leaves, carefully arranged twigs, the surrounds cleared of grass. Maybe he should have said something about the potential bushfire hazard, but hunger won out and, besides, Maggie seemed to know what she was doing. It took her only minutes to get the fire started. They set up a pot over the small blaze and cooked some instant noodles. He had only one packet left, which made him want to kick himself. He hadn’t planned to have anyone else along and Maggie was aware of the fact, but still, he didn’t like having to tell her there was barely enough food for them both. He’d intended to restock his supplies before getting back on the road that morning, but in his hangover fog he hadn’t thought of it.
‘You should have mentioned earlier,’ Maggie said. ‘Could have tried to catch some rabbits.’
Simon waited for a wink or a grin. It didn’t come.
She nudged the pot with a stick, turning it over the fire.
‘You know how to hunt rabbits?’
‘More or less,’ Maggie said. ‘I had a foster dad at one stage who was right into camping. He used to take all of us out on these weekend trips. Getting in touch with nature or whatever. Hunting, skinning, all the rest. We used guns occasionally, but he taught us how to get by without them. Set traps, keep an eye out from the trees. “Ready, not rigid,” he’d make us repeat.’
‘Skinning?’ Simon said, still caught on that detail. ‘As in skinning rabbits.’
‘If you eat meat, someone somewhere skins it. Weird thing to get squeamish about.’
‘Still,’ Simon said. ‘It seems . . . I don’t know . . . wrong, making kids do it.’
‘It was all about bonding over shared hardships.’ That brought on the grin. ‘Not that it did much of that.’
‘When you say “all of us”, you mean . . .’ Was it somehow inappropriate to ask? ‘All the foster kids?’
Maggie nodded. ‘There were about seven of us.’
‘And you all . . .’ He felt stupid but he didn’t know what else to ask. This territory felt tender and dangerous. ‘And you all liked camping?’
‘I did,’ Maggie’s eyes stayed on the fire.
‘You said . . .’ Simon tried to find the words. ‘I mean, tell me if it’s none of my business, but you said “at one stage”. Does that mean there were other, you know, um, foster homes?’
Maggie didn’t reply.
It was late. The sky was a blanket of stars in the darkness, clearer here than he had ever seen. He dug some beers from the cooler in the boot and together they sat on the bonnet, slurping noodles, drinking lukewarm beer and watching the sky without a word. Here in this huge field beneath the stars he felt smaller than he ever had before, although not in a way that scared him.
He looked at Maggie, whose eyes were on the stars, and asked her the question that had been bouncing around his head all afternoon.
‘Why did you leave Melbourne?’
She neither looked at him nor replied straight away. She took a sip of her beer and lay back against the windscreen. ‘Sometimes you just have to leave.’
‘Any reason for that?’
‘I just said the reason.’
‘You vaguely implied a reason.’
‘Vaguely implying a reason should strongly imply that I don’t want to talk about it.’ She turned her head and looked at him. ‘I’ve spent my whole life feeling trapped and scared. And finally I made a choice that would get me out of that. It came at a cost, and that cost means I can’t go home. So I’m going to keep travelling.’
‘Until you find a new home?’
‘I hated the last ones,’ she said. ‘Why would I want another?’
That made some sense, he supposed, but it seemed a sad way to live.
‘And you don’t think that’s a problem?’ he said. When she didn’t reply, he wondered if he had overstepped.
‘You wouldn’t either, if you knew the alternative,’ she said eventually.
CHAPTER FIVE
&nbs
p; Now
Frank walked into the living room. The girl had been laid on the threadbare couch, and Charlie was hunched over her leg with a bucket of water, a blood-soaked sponge, some antiseptic and the open first-aid kit. Delilah, arms crossed, stood over him.
‘How are we going?’ Frank asked.
‘Come see for yourself,’ Charlie said, head down.
Clean of mud, her leg somehow looked even worse. Several deep gashes lined her calf, the skin around them purple and swollen, the tears in her skin ragged, uneven.
‘Was she bitten by something?’ Frank asked.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Maybe. It’s hard to tell.’
Frank kept his expression impassive. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘Not right now,’ Charlie said. ‘I want to finish cleaning the wounds first, see if we can get her to drink something, then work out if there’s any major infection. It doesn’t look septic, but still.’ He paused, fixated on her leg, brow furrowed. ‘If it’s bad, we might have to call an ambulance after all. Otherwise I’ll do my best to stitch her up. I’ve seen it done a thousand times. My guess? She passed out mainly from dehydration and exhaustion, although the blood loss didn’t help. These wounds are at least a day old.’
‘So she’s running from something,’ Delilah said.
Allie hoped her expression gave nothing away. She wasn’t sure if she should be honest or not, but something about this man, about the way he looked at her, made her shake her head. ‘No . . . no girl.’
‘You sure about that, love?’ Reg asked. ‘Grandpa didn’t ask you to keep it a secret?’
‘No,’ she said. That, at least, was true.
‘It’s just . . .’ Reg looked around, then shifted a little closer, as if telling a secret. Allie could smell stale booze and cigarette smoke on his breath. ‘I kind of need to talk to her. It’s pretty important. If you did see her, you’re not doing anyone any favours by keeping it to yourself.’
The Hunted Page 4