Travis scrambled in his kitchen drawers for the phone directory. It was here somewhere, he was sure. He swore and grunted and slammed one drawer after the other until he thought to look on top of the fridge. There it was, damn it, right where he’d last left it. He snatched the book up and searched for the number of the Narree Motel.
‘This number has been disconnected. Please check and try again,’ recited a mechanical voice.
‘Fuck it!’ he shouted at the walls that were covered in pictures of his life. He stopped, horrified. Not one photo on that wall had a child in it. Not one photo was of his son. Christ, he’d really fucked it all up.
Who to ring? There was a directory assistance number somewhere but he didn’t know it off by heart. He thought hard. The Lake Grace pub. They knew everything. And he knew their number.
‘Lake Grace Hotel.’ A gravelly voice, loaded with what Trav guessed to be a mother of a hangover, answered the phone. It was Shon Murphy.
‘Travis Hunter here. Would you have the number of the Narree Motel?’
‘And if I did, why should I tell you?’
‘Just give me the fucking number, Murphy.’ He didn’t have time for this shit.
‘No.’
Trav let out a roar of frustration. ‘For land’s sake, give me the fucking number! My boy’s missing and there’s a flood coming. Do you want to be responsible for the death of a child?’
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Shon said, ‘Hang on.’
Trav could hear Shon bellowing, ‘Hey, Joanne, what’s the new number for the motel?’ There was the sound of a shrill voice then Murphy was back on the line. ‘You got a pen?’
Shon read out the number twice, to make sure Trav had it right.
Even though it pained him to say it, Trav squeezed out, ‘Thanks.’
‘Hope you find him.’ Shon banged down the phone.
Trav dialled the motel. Asked if Katrina – Reyne – was there.
‘No, Mr Hunter,’ said the receptionist, ‘I’m afraid you’ve just missed her. She’s checked out.’
‘Do you have a contact number for her?’
‘Well, yes, but due to privacy measures I can’t give it to you.’
The girl must have heard his groan. ‘I’m really sorry. I could have rung her for you myself if it was really urgent, but our computer system’s just gone down – something to do with a flood at Lake Grace – and I can’t access our records right now.’
Trav tried to think how else he could discover whether Billy was with Kat.
‘She and the child left about half an hour ago, Mr Hunter,’ came the young woman’s voice. ‘They didn’t say where they were headed but the little boy seemed very excited.’ She giggled. ‘They’re like peas in a pod, those two. They look so alike!’
Trav couldn’t remember if he said thank you or not as he hung up the phone. He had to get to Narree and head them off. They were probably clear of the flood zone but who knew where Katrina would leave his son this time.
There was water already across the road in the dip on the run-up to the bridge. Surface water from the rain, Tammy guessed. She gauged its depth from the fence posts running down each side of the road, using the theory that the posts would be lower than the middle of the tar. She should make it, she thought.
Engaging low range, she crept forwards, keeping to the middle of the road until she saw a truck coming towards her. It was a 1418 Mercedes Benz, a nine-tonne tray truck with a crate and load of cattle on it. She gingerly moved the LandCruiser to the left side of the road. The driver was making wild gestures at her as he bored past. Waves of water flung themselves at her ute. The bastard. Luckily the vehicle had a snorkel to prevent water getting into the engine. She kept driving, knowing she might as well keep going – the bridge was right in front of her and it was dry. As the tyres hit the tar on the concrete structure that spanned the Narree River, she let out a sigh of relief. From what Rob had said, they’d be opening the weir any time now. She didn’t have long.
She stabbed at the clutch and rolled the ute to a stop for a moment to allow the stress that had been building inside her to melt away. She’d made it. She could see Billy’s fishing spot out to her right on the far bank. She’d just drive over, check it out and then head back.
A dull noise was building in her ears. She snatched a quick look to her left and her mouth gaped open in utter terror. The flood. It was here. Coming right at her from a couple of Ks upstream. A wall of water throwing logs and trees left and right like they were twigs. She floored the accelerator, panic making her flounder with the gears. The ute jumped forwards, then coughed, spluttered and stopped. She snatched another look at the water coming at her like a freight train. Tried to fire the ignition. Nothing happened. It was dead. She tried again. And again. And again.
‘C’mon, c’mon. Start, damn you!’ she sobbed. Nothing. ‘Goddamn it!’ she yelled, staring wildly across at the water, which was bearing down on the bridge.
She bailed out of the ute and ran to the front of the vehicle. Threw open the bonnet. Saw the air inlet hose hadn’t been reconnected to the snorkel after the last service. Oh dear God, the motor had ingested water. Fucking Shon! He always did the maintenance on their vehicles rather than spend money on a mechanic. His tightfistedness was going to cost her her life.
Suddenly her subconscious noted the roar of the oncoming water. Drowning out any other noise it was like nothing she’d ever heard before. The bridge shuddered slightly under her feet, making her look up. A massive raft of uprooted trees pushed ahead of the big wave had belted the side of the bridge. Do something, her mind screamed.
She snapped a look to the left and then to the right. Both approaches to the bridge were now under water. Way too much water, moving far too fast for her to swim through.
Her blood ran cold. She was running out of options. Think, think, think!
The radio.
She jumped back into the ute to try the UHF in desperation, knowing in her heart that it was too late. ‘Help, help, somebody, anybody, help me!’ she screamed into the receiver.
Silence.
Tammy dropped the handset to the floor, slumped back in the seat and closed her eyes.
And waited for the water to smash into her vehicle and carry them both away.
Chapter 47
Travis didn’t know whether he’d catch the pair of them before they left town, but he had to try. He couldn’t believe Katrina would do this to him – take his boy. Why hadn’t she rung him to let him know she had Billy? Maybe she was making him pay for yesterday? He wouldn’t put it past her.
Billy must have left the house this morning soon after Travis and, so his father didn’t see him, cut through the bush to the main road. Then he’d obviously hitched a ride into town. Why was the child so desperate as to run away? Had he really been that bad a father?
Well, once he found the kid, he’d rectify all that. He’d try harder.
But he had to find him first.
He jumped into his ute, sped down the hill, past Montmorency. Realised he hadn’t rung Tammy. He’d call her once he reached town and located them. If he found them. He shook his head. He couldn’t even entertain that thought.
He turned right towards Narree and saw water over the winding road all the way to the bridge. Fuck it! In his mad panic to get out the door, he’d forgotten about the flood. He stared at the road in frustration. A roll of water coming across the paddocks caught his eye. He’d get flooded on all sides by a mini tsunami if he stayed where he was. He thumped the steering wheel of the ute in frustration. How could he stop Katrina now?
There was a flicker of white in the gloom. Was there something on the bridge? He stared hard through the windscreen, so hard his eyes blurred. He swiped at them. There it was, a blotch of white in the teeming rain.
He snatched another look at the oncoming wat
er. How much longer did he have?
Long enough. Maybe.
He jumped out of the vehicle and dug into the workbox on the tray-back, ignoring the water now running down his neck. He snatched up the binoculars he’d borrowed off Joe and focused the glasses on the bridge.
It was a white ute, slammed up hard against the guard rail on the wrong side of the road by the first big wave of weir water. The flood was pouring around it halfway up the side of the vehicle, over the running boards, probably up to the door handles.
Holy shit! Was there anyone in it?
He pulled the glasses away to clear the moisture off the lenses, then peered hard again. He thought he might have seen a flicker of movement on the driver’s side. Realised at the same moment the vehicle looked familiar.
Tammy.
His blood ran cold.
What could he do? There was no way he’d get through that water in his ute. It was insane to even try. And more floodwater was rolling across the paddocks towards him at a pace. If he didn’t move now he’d be in the same situation.
He jumped into the ute, reversed, spun the vehicle around and sent it hurtling back towards Hope’s Road and Montmorency Downs. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would explode out of his chest. He felt sick leaving her but he had to get hold of a piece of machinery that could withstand the force of that water.
He screeched sideways into Tammy’s driveway, not noticing the big yellow sign at the entrance. His eyes were focused on Backwater Creek and the low-level crossing between McCauley’s Hill and Tammy’s place that was now flowing full and fast. Shit, shit, shit. He wouldn’t be able to get home now – and what about Billy?
The whole world around him was going to hell and he had no way of stopping it. Deep breaths, he told himself. One thing at a time. Tammy was the priority at the minute. At least Billy was safe with Katrina – he hoped.
He needed to find a tractor and he knew Tammy had one. Down the drive he went, coming to a halt in front of the machinery shed. He scanned the contents. No tractor. Fuck it. He drove on, scanned the paddocks around the dairy. Where the hell had she hidden her 150-horsepower bright red Massey Ferguson tractor? Surely she didn’t have it over on the run-off block? Not with a flood coming?
A glimpse of scarlet through the trees near the hayshed caught his eye. A round baler? A silage cart? He barrelled the ute in that direction – and there it was, a serious piece of machinery. Just what he needed. He prayed she’d left the keys in the damn thing.
She hadn’t.
He belted across to the house and bored through the back door. Water poured from his clothes onto the kitchen lino. He didn’t care, just scanned the walls for a key-holder. And there it was. A key with a cattle tag proclaiming Massey. He snatched it off its hook, took off back outside, climbed into the tractor and roared down the drive.
The water met him coming the other way. The whole landscape in front of him had changed within minutes from a dull grey-green to a sea of murky brown and silver. The tops of the fence posts were like short stumps floating on liquid. It was a frightening sight. He entered the water, the tractor making short work of driving through the tonnes of liquid coming towards him. He attempted to keep himself slap bang in the middle of the white guideposts, where the centre of Hope’s Road would be, knowing he was taking a terrible risk. The water could have wrecked the tar beneath him.
Round the corner he went, towards the bridge, and then finally he was there. There was a torrent of water rushing through but it appeared the bridge was holding up. Down the dip in the road, and up onto the bridge itself, making his way towards the ute, the big motor on the tractor screaming in his ears. He saw movement as he pulled up alongside the cab. He peered down into the vehicle. What he saw made his blood run cold again. Though she was only waist-deep in water her head was back, eyes closed.
Then she looked up. Thank God she was still alive. He could see the expressions on her face. Shock, relief, chased by hope.
He opened the tractor door, and the roar of the water filled the cabin. He mimed winding the window to Tammy. She struggled towards the passenger side, wound the glass down. Water now poured through the gap.
‘Can you climb out through the window?’ he yelled.
She nodded, wriggled her way up onto her haunches and hauled herself through the gap. A tree trunk came out of nowhere as she perched on the sill. It hit the ute side-on. Whack!
The vehicle shuddered under the impact, rocking. Tammy screamed and scrambled back inside the ute. Terror was written across her face.
His heart was in his mouth but he tried to look as reassuring as possible. ‘Try again! You can do it!’
He watched her take a deep breath and launch herself out the window gap again. Man, this woman was incredible. He was so proud of her. She grabbed hold of the side of the tractor and reefed her body out of the vehicle and onto the top step of the big machine. He grabbed at her desperately with both hands and hauled her inside. Her wet and cold body landed hard on his lap. She sank into his arms and lay with her head against his chest, breathing hard, shaking so violently he thought she’d never stop. He threw his arms around her and hugged her close, muttering into her straggled hair, ‘It’s okay. I’ve got you . . . I’ve got you.’
She started to sob, big wracking shudders that shook them both. He gently pushed her head back and gazed into her eyes. His hand lightly brushed the wet strands of hair out of the way. So close. So close to losing something very special. He was shocked to realise just how special. Once again, what an idiot he’d been. ‘It’s okay, Tammy. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m here. But we need to get off this bridge.’
Tammy didn’t want to leave the warmth of his body, but knew she had to because they weren’t out of the woods yet. She tried to get a hold on her emotions, to stop shaking and shuddering.
‘What’s the plan?’ The words came out wobbly and shrill.
Trav gently deposited her on the jockey seat beside him. ‘We reverse off the bridge. At least I know the road’s still in reasonable shape behind us.’ He got the tractor moving again and slowly reversed his way across the bridge. Down the road they went, backwards, until he could see the sign for the intersection to Montmorency Downs. He kept reversing up the tar to Lake Grace and then, shifting gears, headed forwards and around the corner and down Hope’s Road towards McCauley’s Hill.
Tammy could see her whole farm was now under water, except for a few acres around the house, which her far-seeing forefathers had placed on a rise. The cows were all huddled around a snatch of green grass between the house and the dairy. She was relieved to see the pad of built-up dirt was doing its job.
‘Billy! What about Billy?’ she said suddenly. She saw Trav start as he clocked the yellow auction pending sign, but he didn’t say anything.
‘I’m pretty sure Billy’s with Katrina,’ he said. ‘I was on my way to find them when I saw you. I came back for your tractor.’ He looked towards the low-level crossing. ‘I thought I might have been able to get through there in this to get home but now I don’t think I can. That’s way too deep even for this thing. When the water goes down a bit, can I borrow the tractor to get home?’
‘Of course,’ she said, her heart sinking. He’d said it all so dispassionately. What had happened to their connection, that burning need she was sure she had just seen in him? She tried to focus back on the child. ‘What are you going to do about Billy?’
‘Find him,’ said Trav in a bleak voice. ‘I don’t know what’s happened, or where they are, but I intend to track them down. I need to convince him to come home.’
Chapter 48
‘Joe McCauley! What are you doing stuck in that muck?’
One scarlet gumboot landed beside Joe’s nose. Followed by another.
‘Don’t you have better things to do than wallow around in mud like some common thug?’
He’d
known only one person in the district who talked like that. But he couldn’t work out why the hell she’d be on his hill, so he figured he must be in purgatory with Boots. It was just his luck she’d be there too.
‘What are you and Boots doing down here in the rain?’ said another voice, male this time. A young voice.
This person he did want to talk to. Joe opened his eyes and swiped at them to clear mud from his vision. He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there cuddling the body of his dog.
‘Randal? Randal! Get out of the car this instant and help Mr McCauley,’ came the woman’s voice again. The boot disappeared. There was the sound of a car door being opened and shut. Joe snuck another look. This time he saw a late 1960s white Chrysler Valiant complete with chrome and bright silver trim sitting in the driveway on the side of his hill. How in the hell did that get here with all the water lying on the roads? Fly?
More footfalls came sloshing through the mud. Joe shut his eyes, then opened them as the steps stopped in front of him. A long pale face, studs poking from an eyebrow, a nose and chin, came floating into view. The youth’s cheeks were stacked with white-topped mountains of adolescent acne. A bony hand with black-painted fingernails came towards him.
Who the fuck? Joe scuttled backwards.
‘Settle, petal,’ came the woman’s voice again. ‘Randal might look scary, but deep down he’s a fairy.’
‘Hey, Mrs P, I’m not a poofter!’ Joe assumed this protest came from Randal. The kid’s voice was slightly high-pitched, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be a boy or a man, but it confirmed the identity of the woman. Oh hell.
Determined not to let Mr Metal Face touch him again, Joe muttered, ‘I’m fine.’ He tried to sit up but found he was frozen into a crouch.
‘Here, Mr McCauley, I’ll help you up.’ The small figure of Billy Hunter made to move towards Joe and haul him off the ground.
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