by Greg McLean
The guy’s completely crazy, Bruce thought.
Mick swiped out at Bruce with his knife.
Bruce managed to avoid the blade, but only just. It wouldn’t be long before Mick retained his full vision and then Bruce would be a goner. So he raised the tyre iron again, and brought it down towards Mick’s head.
Mick flicked his left arm up and caught the iron bar before it struck him, yanked it out of Bruce’s hand, sending waves of agony through the young man’s injured shoulder.
Mick raised both the tyre iron and the knife in the air and gave a toe-curling scream that seemed to call to the heavens.
Or to hell.
Bruce turned and bolted. He raced past the truck and out into the wide open arms of the desert.
‘You’ll die out there!’ Mick shouted. ‘The land won’t let you live. How can you survive without water?’
The shouting gave way to laughter and the laughter faded as Bruce left the madman behind.
Mick washed his eyes using the water he kept in a container behind the driver’s seat. Then he took a long drink.
Able to see clearly again, he threw the tyre iron back on the truck, slipped the hunting knife into its sheath on his belt and looked out across the desert plain.
He was angry at himself for having allowed Bruce to get away. He’d wanted to torture the guy before doing away with him, and now he wouldn’t get that chance.
‘Jesus, Mick, foiled by some pansy from the city.’
He shook his head.
Such a dirty trick – but he had to at least admire the guy for his fortitude and quick thinking. He didn’t realise Bruce had it in him.
Still, come dusk, Bruce would be dingo food. There was no way he could survive out there, miles from anywhere, with no food or water, and a badly wounded shoulder.
It would be a painful death.
Pity it wouldn’t be from Mick’s own hands. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d make sure no one else escaped.
He looked down at the hot desert earth, covered with small stones. It occurred to him that if he took away their shoes, it would make it that much harder for them if they did manage to get away from him. Their feet would get shredded before they made it a hundred yards.
He nodded to himself. He liked that idea. But he wouldn’t let anyone else escape. Duncan, the Yank bloke, Sam, the kid and the nog won’t be any hassles. Just a quick blast to the head will take care of them. That would leave the women.
And that’s when the fun would really begin.
With eyes still gritty and mouth tasting of the earth, Mick hopped back into his truck.
He needed to kill some time before heading back to the mine, so once he had gotten back onto the dirt road, he turned right when he reached the highway.
Emu Flat’s taps of icy cold beer beckoned.
10
Steve was gazing up at the mass of grey clouds that crammed the late afternoon sky when he heard the grumble of Mick’s truck. He looked down and watched the blue truck roll into the mine.
‘About time,’ Cindy said, sitting beside him.
‘Yes, we thought they’d never come back,’ Chiyo said, lounging in a chair opposite the unlit fire drum.
The truck pulled up alongside the main shed and Mick hopped out. He looked exhausted, with red eyes, and his flannel shirt was grimy and torn.
‘Where’s Bruce?’ Duncan said, walking over to the truck with Amber.
‘Before you get your panties in a knot, let me say that he’s okay,’ Mick said. ‘He just had himself a little accident, that’s all.’
Steve got up from his chair. ‘Accident? What happened?’
‘Dog attacked him.’
‘What?’ Jewel said, coming up behind Duncan and Amber.
‘This was no poodle, you understand. It was a half breed – part dingo. One of the guys in town owns it. We were there about the spare part, when his dog just comes running at us. Mongrel of a thing. Bill usually keeps it tied up, but I guess today he didn’t. Anyway, for whatever reason, maybe because it knows how much I hate it and because I’ve given it a few kicks on the sly in the past, it went for Bruce.’
‘Oh my god!’ Jewel gasped.
‘How badly was he injured?’ Duncan said.
‘He’s okay,’ Mick said. ‘A few scratches and bite marks, but nothin’ too serious. He’s laid up in the local hospital in Nildon. They’re gonna keep him in for a few days. For observation, that kind of thing.’
‘Can we go and see him?’
Mick shook his head. ‘Not today. It’s gettin’ late, and they don’t allow visitors after four. I’ll take ya to see him tomorrow.’
‘Man,’ Duncan sighed. ‘This trip is jinxed.’
Steve stepped forward. ‘Did they put the dog down?’
Mick turned and gave Steve a dead stare. ‘Huh?’
‘The dog that attacked Bruce. Did they put it down?’
Mick shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But they should. Mongrel of a thing.’ Mick clapped his hands together. ‘Okay, who’s hungry? I’ll start dinner, hey?’
‘Jesus,’ Jewel said. ‘Bruce is lying in a hospital and all you can think about is dinner?’
Mick offered the pretty pixie with the look of concern in her eyes a bewildered smile. ‘Well . . . yeah. There’s nothin’ else we can do. He’s over there, we’re here. Don’t worry, love, he’s fine. You can see him tomorrow, okay?’
Mick’s sincerity was as thin as rice paper. He strode off into his shed.
‘Poor Bruce,’ Chiyo said.
‘Poor us,’ Matt said, hands stuck in the pockets of his black jeans. ‘Stuck here for another couple of days. Shit.’
‘We don’t have to stay here,’ Cindy said. ‘We could all go into town, find a motel close to the hospital.’
‘Well, that’s a good idea,’ Sam said.
‘It is . . . except we don’t know whether Mick got the replacement part for the bus. Without that, we can’t go into town,’ Steve said.
‘Well, go in and ask him,’ Cindy said.
‘Why doesn’t Duncan?’ Jewel said. ‘He’s running this tour.’
Duncan swallowed. ‘Sure, okay. I guess I’ll go . . .’
Steve was tired of dicking around. ‘Look, it’s fine,’ Steve said. ‘I’ll go.’ It was clear that Bruce was the true leader of this operation, and with him out of action, someone else needed to step up and fill the void. And that person certainly wasn’t Duncan. He had the looks and the charm, but not the brains, nor the balls.
Steve walked over to the shed. As he passed Mick’s truck, he noticed brownish stains on the driver’s side door – stains that looked a lot like blood. A feeling of unease started seeping into his skin as he stepped inside the large metal shed.
It was humid inside, like a sauna, and big. It was essentially an empty shell – the only furniture was a long wooden table at one end. Crumpled cigarette packets, beer bottles and spent rifle casings littered the dusty concrete floor. Mick wasn’t there, but there was whistling coming from inside a second room at the back.
Mick wasn’t great with a tune, but Steve still recognised the song as ‘Paint It Black’.
He stopped just inside the doorway. The room – perhaps an office in another lifetime – was tiny, and was lit by a low-wattage bulb. There was a small card table with bowls full of food and a squat refrigerator nestled in one corner.
Mick was standing at the table with his hands in one of the bowls. When Steve approached, he looked up from his culinary duties. ‘Oh, hey, what can I do you for?’ He looked to be mixing hamburgers. There was raw meat in the bowl, and the remains of an onion and the shells of some eggs on the table. ‘Want a beer or somethin’?’
Mick took his hands out of the mixture and licked his fingers.
Steve’s gut churned. ‘Ah, no, thanks.’
‘You’re just worried about Bruce, is that it?’
‘No . . . Well, yes, but that’s not what I . . . Did you get the replacement part for the
bus?’
‘Ah, I see.’ Mick nodded. ‘Of course, I forgot to tell you. No, unfortunately not. Bruce was attacked before we got the chance to find one. But I’ll keep askin’ around tomorrow. Okay?’ Mick plunged his hands back into the meat mixture.
Steve cleared his throat. He didn’t like being in this small room with Mick. A room that smelled of sweat and raw meat. It reminded him of being in ’Nam: the humid, claustrophobic jungle and the smell of death all around him.
‘So that means we can’t all go into town tomorrow to see Bruce?’
‘’Fraid not. Only two can go.’ Mick looked up. ‘I hope you all like hamburgers. It’s my special recipe.’
‘Sure, whatever,’ Steve said. ‘I’ll tell the others about the bus.’
‘Also tell ’em that dinner should be ready in about half an hour.’
‘Right.’ Steve paused a moment, watched Mick turn the meat in his filthy hands. ‘That dog attack must have been pretty serious.’
Mick peered up at Steve from under his brow. ‘Like I said, wasn’t too bad. Fortunately.’
‘I just noticed the blood on your truck. I assume it’s Bruce’s?’
Mick’s face twitched. He stopped mixing the meat. ‘Yeah, it’s his. It wasn’t serious but the dog still got in a few good scratches and bites. The human body can squirt a surprisin’ amount of blood for non-life-threatening injuries. Look what happens when you get a paper cut.’ Mick huffed. ‘But then you’d know all about blood and human carnage, what with you having been in the war. Right?’
Steve swallowed. He could taste dirt, the sharp tang of cobalt and a metallic hint of blood. Feeling dizzy, the claustrophobia and the memories becoming too much, he backed out and stumbled from the shed into the relative coolness of the late afternoon air.
‘Are you okay?’ Duncan said when he’d rejoined the others.
Steve stopped near Mick’s truck and drew in deep breaths. Cindy hurried over and placed a hand on his sweaty back. ‘Honey, what’s the matter? You look as pale as winter snow.’
‘Nothing,’ Steve said. ‘I’m okay. I just need to sit down. It was hot in there, that’s all. Started feeling light-headed.’
Steve headed for the chairs around the fire drum with Cindy in tow.
‘What about the van?’ Duncan called.
Without stopping, Steve said, panting, ‘He didn’t get the part.’
When he reached the drum, he sank into one of the wooden chairs and took some deep breaths. Cindy wore her usual expression: eyes narrow and face creased. She was only young, but if she continued to worry like she did, Steve feared she’d have a face like an unironed shirt before she was twenty-five.
‘Want some water?’ Cindy asked. ‘I’ll be right back.’
While he waited for Cindy to return with the drink, Steve again looked up at the sky. More ominous grey clouds had joined the others and it looked like it might rain, but Steve wasn’t sure whether it ever did in the Australian outback. He hoped not. It was the last thing they needed. Aside from mud and the possibility of the cars getting bogged, a storm would create a wet, humid atmosphere. And that, in Steve’s opinion, was the worst kind of weather.
It reminded him too much of ’Nam.
‘This sucks,’ Duncan said. ‘Without the van, we can’t get out of here. And we can’t all go into town tomorrow to see Bruce. Make sure he’s alright.’
Jewel’s hand shook as she brought the Viscount cigarette to her lips and took a drag. It wasn’t just spending another night in this horrible place that was upsetting – it was also the thought of Bruce lying in the hospital room, alone.
And she didn’t like the thought of being stuck here without transport.
The only way out was on foot – or to steal Mick’s truck. Neither option appealed to her. She hated the idea of being trapped in one place. It made her feel like a caged animal: tense and wary. She had felt the same way in Perth, which was why she had to get out. She just had to try to relax. Tell herself everything would be okay.
She glanced back at the Kombi. She thought of the bags of weed hidden behind the panels. She could really do with a toke right about now. Maybe Duncan would let her have a bit. Probably not, she figured, but the idea of curling up in the Kombi sounded nice.
She pulled on the handle for the side doors, but it was locked. So were the two front doors and the back. Bruce certainly was careful when it came to his vehicle – not that she blamed him, considering what it contained.
Feeling flat, she sauntered back over to Duncan and interrupted him and Amber snuggling. ‘Hey, can I have the keys to the Kombi?’
Duncan unfurled himself from Amber. He sat up straight, dug into his pocket, but came up empty. He searched his other pockets, but found nothing. ‘Bruce must have them.’
‘You mean you don’t have a set?’
Duncan shook his head. ‘We only have the one.’
‘Great. It’s locked.’
‘It is?’ Duncan said.
‘Why else would I come asking for the keys?’
‘Shit, we couldn’t have driven the van into town even if we wanted to.’
Jewel sighed.
‘Well, we’ll get the keys from Bruce tomorrow,’ Duncan said, as Mick wandered out of the shed carrying plates. ‘Finally! I’m starved.’
Jewel looked at the patties that sat on the plates like pink dog turds.
‘Burgers? Yum,’ Amber said.
Jewel groaned. Of course dinner would have to be meat.
‘I bet he doesn’t have any salad to go with them, or anything,’ Jewel said, and she turned and walked off. She found a spot away from the horrid hamburgers, sitting on some rusted metal contraption, and lit another smoke.
From there, she watched Mick build and then light a new fire in the big old drum. She was on to her third cigarette when Matt wandered over. Great. She wasn’t in the mood for company, and especially not that of a teenage boy.
‘Hey,’ Matt said, his voice wavering. ‘I don’t blame ya for wanting to get away. I’m not much of a people person either.’ He stood in front of her, looking awkward, unsure of how to stand or what to do with his hands. ‘Can I bum a smoke?’
Jewel blew smoke to the cloudy sky and shook her head. ‘Sorry. Don’t think your dad would like me very much if I gave you a cigarette.’
‘He wouldn’t have to know. I’ve smoked before, you know. Heaps of times.’
‘Have you now?’
Matt nodded. His long, greasy hair swayed. Jewel noticed how pale his thin face was; it made his rash of red pimples look like drops of blood.
‘Yeah, I do a lot of things my mum doesn’t know about. I’ve drank and smoked, weed and tobacco.’ Matt shrugged his knobbly shoulders. ‘Yeah, my mum doesn’t want to admit I’m an adult,’ he huffed. ‘She still sees me as a kid.’
Despite her moody disposition, Jewel had to fight hard not to giggle. She bit down on her bottom lip.
‘And my dad, he doesn’t even know me at all. He’s such a fucking idiot.’
Jewel sucked hard on her cigarette. ‘He seems alright to me.’
Matt stared at her. ‘He’s a total dipshit. He’s as square as you can get. And he’s a loser. Do you know why my parents got divorced?’
Jewel shrugged, resigned to hearing all about it.
‘My mum cheated on him. He caught her fucking some guy ten years younger than her. Shit, you hear about it happening the other way around, but for the woman to cheat on the man?’ Matt shook his head. ‘Like I said, what a loser.’
‘Sorry to hear,’ she said, trying not to engage him too much.
‘I’m not. Good riddance, I say. I only went on this stupid trip because he promised to buy me a guitar once we get to Broome. I’m a musician. I’m gonna be a rock star, like Mick Jagger.’
‘Don’t you mean Keith Richards?’
‘What? Oh, yeah, right.’
Matt moved closer. He scratched his hair. ‘Hey, I think you’re really cute. How about we hook up later
? I mean, nothing heavy, but, you know, it gets cold out here at night. And with Amber hooked up with Duncan . . .’
Jewel felt queasy at the thought of being with this hormonally charged teenager. Still, she didn’t want to be cruel. She may not be a people person, but that didn’t mean she liked hurting people’s feelings.
‘I’m kinda with Bruce.’
‘Yeah, I know you two . . . last night . . .’
Jewel squirmed. Her face flushed with heat.
‘But Bruce isn’t here,’ Matt went on. ‘And it’s not like you two are an item or anything.’
He leaned down and smashed his lips against hers. He tasted of sweat and his breath was sour, stale. Jewel jumped up.
Matt stood back awkwardly, embarrassed but committed to his attempt to interest her.
‘I think you’d better go back to the others,’ Jewel said. ‘The burgers are probably almost ready.’
‘Come on, Jewel. I really like you. Just a kiss?’
‘No. Look, I’m not interested. Please, I just want to be left alone.’
Matt hung his head. His mass of black hair slipped down to cover his face. He turned and wandered back to the fire.
With a sigh, Jewel sat back down on the piece of mining equipment. Christ, what next?
Moments later, she felt the first drops of rain strike her head.
11
Even though it was only late in the afternoon, the day had taken on the hue of dusk. Terrance Seddon flicked on the outside lights and then resumed cleaning the counter with a rag probably dirtier than the countertop itself. It certainly smelled worse – like stale beer and old grease.
Who gives a shit? Terrance thought. It’s not like his customers care about the state of his place. As long as the beer is flowing, the oil is hot and the meat freshly killed, he could wipe the counter with the arse-end of a wombat for all they cared.
Not that there were currently any customers to complain about his less-than sanitary habits. Emu Flat Roadhouse was as still as a statue in winter.
Terrance had just placed the grimy towel back under the counter when the door banged open and two men stumbled in.
‘Terrance, this man needs help.’