Along the ceiling a line of flags fluttered in the cool, crisp air, leading to the far corner where a chunky box of a television played grainy music videos, its picture flickering under hazy snow. Beneath it, a group of men in checked shirts and wide-brimmed hats flipped coins into the air and thrust cash at each other. Floating over the music and noise, a heady aroma of food wafted toward him.
Smithy elbowed his way through the crowd and leaned against the bar. “A drink for my friend and I, and something to eat, please.”
A thick-set barman, coils of steel-wool gray bursting from the top of his T-shirt, waddled toward them. He splayed chunky fingers on the countertop like a sprinter awaiting the starter’s pistol as he towered over Smithy. “What will you have?”
Smithy pulled out a battered leather wallet. “I’m down to my last twenty, so what will that get me and my friend?”
The barman glanced at the chalk-scrawled menu board leaning against shelves of bottles and glasses, below a series of hats nailed to the wall in a neat line. “We’ll see what we can do. Grab a seat.” He snatched the orange note from Smithy’s wallet and reached for a glass.
Andy slipped alongside Smithy, his body temperature resuming normal transmission. Unexplainable or not, he would rather be here than staggering around in the sun. A tanned, sinewy man in a blue-, red-, and yellow-striped sweater slopped amber liquid from two glasses held high as he maneuvered around Andy. “Coming through, mate.”
A barmaid in a tied-off checked shirt ushered them to a table as a familiar song drifted across the bar from a jukebox against the far wall. Andy chuckled. Even an American could recognize the jaunty flute line of Men At Work’s “Down Under.” The barmaid placed two cardboard coasters in front of them and a basket cradling two tiny bread rolls topped with the smallest slivers of butter. “Hop in.”
Smithy yawned hard. “Andy, you’re lucky I found you when I did. How did you get out here?”
Where had all these people come from? Sweaty T-shirts and long shorts, light dresses pasted onto thin frames with sweat. A loud cheer burst from the corner as money changed hands and two copper coins were again flung into the air by a man in a large brown hat holding a large wooden paddle. “Two heads. Come in spinner!”
Andy smeared butter onto a roll and jammed it whole into his mouth. His body flooded with the crunch of crust and the sweetness of dairy. In seconds the roll was gone.
The savory, heavy aroma of deep frying assaulted Andy. The sweetness of bubbling sauces. His stomach joined the conversation with a low grumble, and he turned to Smithy. “I would have faded away without your help.”
“I think you’re going to need my help beyond whatever that barmaid brings back.”
Another cheer burst from the corner. Fists full of purple, blue, and orange notes and two tiny coins glinted in sunlight streaming through the window. “Two tails. Come in spinner!” A hypnotic blur of copper streaks. The tiniest craving awoke in the base of his brain and it had nothing to do with the food.
Across the table his new friend’s brow furrowed. “I would advise against that.”
Her tray held high, the barmaid pushed through the crowd. She put down two tall, frosty glasses of clear, bubbling liquid, condensation running down their sides. Andy sighed as the ice clinked in the glass and raised it to his lips. It was sweet, with a light, bitter fizz, and the first mouthful slid down his throat.
The barmaid placed a tiny plate in front of each of them containing a small pie, no bigger than Andy’s fist. “Gentlemen, this is what twenty bucks gets you.” She winked at Andy.
Andy picked up the pastry and breathed deep, savoring the smell. In two bites it was gone.
Another glint from the corner. “Two tails!” Fistfuls of cash were again exchanged. The coins were flung into the air by the man in the wide brown hat, but Andy was no longer interested in him or his coins. His eyes were on the cash, and his mind turned over ways he could get some.
* * *
The squeaking skid of Lincoln’s running shoes echoed through the stationmaster’s office after his fruitless search for a key found more questions than answers. And Alinta was gone.
Had she really been here? “Alinta?”
“Yes?” Sweetness floated from the waiting room.
Lincoln sprinted toward her voice. She sat quietly on cracked leather, ruby-red nail polish punctuating her neatly folded hands. He was assaulted by a heady cloud of perfume—an intoxicating mix of blossom and earth. The tiniest crow’s-feet creasing the corners of her eyes held a knowing look—he could not even guess at her age. She seemed outside of time.
Her smile lit up the room. “Thanks for letting me in. It must have been hard.”
Lincoln thrust his hands into his pockets. This woman was enchanting, but he had so many questions. “You have to believe me. I tried everything to open the door but then it just did. There’s a desk drawer I thought contained the key, but I didn’t need it.”
A light laugh escaped Alinta’s shining lips. “Well, I did ask you to let me in. Maybe that was the key.”
A revelation arrived and Lincoln snapped his fingers. He had seen her at the airport and now she was here, in the middle of nowhere. This strange place where he’d woken. If Outback Tours was behind this, surely she was part of the game. And if he was going to play along, she would be a beautiful woman to play along with. “Do you have something for me?”
Alinta arched an alluring eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”
A familiar flutter batted inside his gut. He needed to play the game first. “I guess you need me to ask the right questions.”
She patted down the creases from her dress. “Who would lock you in here?”
Rusty hinges whined as he flicked down the seat of the chair and sat next to her. He couldn’t blame Outback Tours. He’d opened the door to let her in, but she held the key to him getting back. “It had to be my friends.”
Alinta smiled enticingly. Her sweet, enchanting voice was like none Lincoln had ever heard before. “Some friends. Tell me about them.”
“Well, the four of us graduated together fifteen years ago, and we decided to take this trip as a reunion of sorts. It’s been great catching up with old friends.”
Alinta studied him. “Has it?” As if sensing his discomfort she reached into her suitcase and withdrew a sandwich. “Would you like something to eat?”
Lincoln ripped away the plastic, the soft bread and tang of tomato heaven to his taste buds. This beautiful woman was playing her role well. He was sure she would give him the information he needed—the next step in this survival game he’d be thrust into—but a longer game could be played here. This wasn’t about getting back to the campsite. If she was a bit player with Outback Tours, he could pick up this conversation around the campfire once they were all back. And, with a bit of luck, maybe the next part of his story included her.
Lincoln ran a hand through his grease-coated hair, hoping it was putting his best foot forward. “So what are you doing here?”
“I’m in a train station, and I’m in a waiting room. What do you think?”
“How did you get here?”
“I’ve already asked you that question, so I will answer yours after you answer mine.”
Surely the flirtation wasn’t part of the script required for this adventure game. The fluttering butterflies in his stomach landed, one-by-one on the excitement fizzing deep within him.
“I woke up here, and I presumed I’d been dropped off by—” He stopped. How much should he reveal that he knew she was part of the game? “The tour company. There, I’ve answered your question. Your turn.”
Alinta cocked her head. “Okay. To answer your question, I was called out here. There is a job I was asked to do.”
“What sort of job requires you to be out here?”
“I’m a guide.” She lowered her eyes again before fixing him with a lingering look.
Lincoln smirked. Of course you are. He shifted on his creaking seat as he ev
aluated his internal playbook for his next move. He went for a tried-and-true home-run hitter. “So you’re a guide. That’s terrific. I’m a stockbroker—a pretty successful one, actually.” He paused, allowing his success to land, and waited for the usual reaction. The telltale lift of an eyebrow, the slight parting of the lips.
Instead, Alinta yawned. “Really? Tell me your story.”
I thought I had.
He leaned in toward her. “When I get back to the USA, I’ll be snapping up that beach house at Half Moon Bay I’ve had my eye on and upgrading the car. You really need a convertible in Southern California.”
A nervous smile replaced the yawn. Better.
The rest of his story poured out. His stellar rise in stockbroking, getting his toe on the lowest rung of the property ladder in San Francisco, and his swift climb. The awards for overachievement and the money. Hinted at in a perfected way.
She nodded, a polite smile for each achievement.
Lincoln hadn’t felt this comfortable with a woman since . . . college. Dianne included. Lincoln’s knee started to bounce, unable to contain the building excitement as the thrill of the chase ramped up. He ran out of career highlights and a silence descended.
Alinta arched an eyebrow at him, as an impenetrable facade dropped into place. “Well, that’s what you do for a job, but your story is where you’ve come from, which has led to who you are.”
A bell rang in the depths of his memory. He’d heard that before. Eddie, around the campfire. Lincoln’s curiosity broke free of his restraint, driven by a need to prove he was smarter than she took him for. “You are from Outback Tours, aren’t you?”
The leather creaked and cracked as Alinta shifted to face him. “No I’m not.”
Lincoln furrowed his brow. “So who are you with?”
The ruby-red lacquer on her lips glinted with her simple, wordless smile.
Lincoln pressed on. “Well, if you aren’t with Eddie, your competition is pretty bad. They set up this survival challenge—or whatever it’s called—and it was pretty poorly run. No warning, no preparation, nothing. They left me locked in here with no food and no way out.”
“What makes you think I’m competition?”
“Well, what type of guide are you?”
“I think of myself more as a guide in life. I have a wealth of wisdom, and it’s my duty to share that wisdom with those who follow.”
“Like a relationship coach?”
“No, but I can help with that. I can help you be less ‘unlucky’ in love.”
Lincoln narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
“I can help you discover why your relationships always end the same way, with women walking away from you just when you think things are going well.”
The fizzing and popping of the nerves in Lincoln’s gut gave way to a familiar sinking feeling. He was being played.
“What do you think you know about my life?”
“More than you realize, but if you listen to what I have to say, you’ll find your future won’t have to stumble along the same rocky path of your past. And you might even avoid situations like receiving a letter demanding more than half of your possessions.”
Lincoln breathed hard as he fumed. He knew who was behind this. “Eliza set this up, didn’t she?”
Alinta’s eyes softened. “No, she didn’t set this up, but she certainly started it off.”
Twenty
The dying throes of the guttural humming bounced around the cave and landed softly on the smooth floor. In the half-light Bree pulled her hoodie tight as a waft of damp air forced a shiver out of her. Had she even heard the music? Or was her mind simply playing tricks to get her through this ordeal?
She pulled herself to her feet as her muscles screamed, her stomach aching for food. “Eddie?” She stood in a wide expanse of deep-red rock, lit by a tall sliver of light. The cave narrowed as it led to the light’s source—a crack in the rock wall. A way out. It was thin, but she could squeeze through.
Her gaze followed the shaft of light as it cut through the dust now rising from the cave floor and spotlighted a rough wall daubed with lines and swirls of ancient art. Sloaney’s words came back to her: “Everyone goes too close and they lose the perspective.”
She backed away from the wall and the lines revealed their meaning. The swirls became figures in white chalk and red ochre. People danced around a fire of charcoal lines. Bree recognized a kangaroo and a long, thin creature that had to be a snake. More unrecognizable shapes led to the largest of the figures daubed in yellow and white. Its arms spread wide, a hunter advancing on his prey. The wall was filled with story, preserved for the ages.
And she’d seen it before.
“Oh, how beautiful.” Bree stepped farther back, and a dull clang sounded as a small terra-cotta bowl spun on the rock floor. It was full of tiny red berries and next to it, a small sign with neat, handwritten block letters: Follow my example.
Bree stared at the bowl. Her stomach made an overwhelming sales pitch to Eddie’s warning that not all bush foods were fit for human consumption. And who left a sign like that? First, the didgeridoo, then food. She peered into the cave. “Eddie? Sloaney?”
In the silence questions whizzed around her head like outback flies. Once she escaped the cave she would need to find the campsite, and she needed the energy.
Her hunger wouldn’t be denied. Bree picked up a small berry and stepped back into the shaft of light. As she gave the berry a squeeze, the skin cracked and juice dribbled down her finger. She lifted it to her nose and flicked her tongue at it. The sweetness exploded on her taste buds and she slipped the berry into her mouth and cautiously bit down. The warm juice had an edge of bitterness, but soon her mouth was filled by a rush of elation.
Her stomach roared its appreciation but demanded more. Bree stood waiting for the side effects, then picked up two more and chewed on them. The burst of sweetness flooded through her, and another handful went in, her senses tingling on overload.
Bree’s eyes now adjusted to the dim light, and she moved toward the back of the cave, one tentative step after another. The floor changed to a gentle upward slope over smooth rocks polished by eons of flowing water before it flattened out, dust and feathers strewn across it. She shielded her eyes against the now-bright light pouring through the rip in the rock. A rip as wide as herself. Relief washed over her, chasing away the sugar rush of the berries.
She sensed the movement before she saw it. The slightest twitch at the foot of the rock, hidden in the shadows at the light’s edges that led to her safety. A small bundle of dark-brown scales coiled underneath a reddish-brown head. A tongue lashing an evil smile.
Between her and freedom sat a snake.
* * *
The sun beat down on Eliza as she sat on her swag, trying to make sense of it all. She had been walking in a straight line for half a day. How could she arrive back where she started?
She pulled her water bottle from her backpack, pointlessly. The plastic crinkled as she returned it to her backpack. The answer wasn’t clear, but the lesson was. They had sent her on a journey faced with choices and she had made the wrong ones. She was sure of it.
Bree. She had to get back for Bree. Her determination flooded back—all she had to do was return to the intersection and choose again. Left or right, she would make that decision when she got back there.
She looked again at the lowering sun. The swag had to come with her. Self-doubt made another pitch but she batted it away. She wouldn’t need to be out here overnight. A tour company wouldn’t allow that, would they?
Eliza unpegged the swag and knelt in front of it when she heard the low rumble. The cloudless sky was not the cause, but she was sure she’d heard that rumble before.
A vehicle. It had to be.
Maybe this swag was a checkpoint, and now that she’d found it, Eddie and Sloaney were on their way to pick her up. She’d learned her lesson and would take that home with her. Or maybe the lesso
n was deeper. When you found yourself in trouble, you needed to go back to the beginning and start again. She’d certainly been to enough self-help seminars to have heard that before. The beginning—that first trip to Africa fueled on adventurous spirit and bullheaded desire to make things right. So that was the lesson: she had to find that version of herself and reconnect.
Eliza shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun. The rumble grew as plumes of dust billowed from the road. She exhaled away her frustration as she savored her win. She had been on a harrowing, mind-bending trek through outback Australia and survived. On her own, with only herself to rely on.
Fueled by a fierce self-pride, she allowed her banished anger and indignation their moment. After the debrief—which always came at the end of these corporate personal development exercises—she would give them some honest customer feedback and a substantial piece of her mind.
The rumble quaked her calves as the shape emerged from the heat haze—a large box of a vehicle, red, not black, and significantly bigger than a four-wheel drive. It seemed to fill the entire width of the dusty track.
She reevaluated her options. Eddie had said there was little traffic out here, but she was in no position to argue with a stroke of fortune. A deadlier feeling pressed in on her. Lincoln said on the plane that the country was dangerous, and the threats extended beyond the creepy crawlies. The stories of people hitchhiking the back roads of Australia who were never heard from again.
Fear pulsed through her nervous system, setting her ablaze. While Lincoln could have talked up the danger, there was a chance in this he hadn’t. Her empty water bottle lay in the red dirt alongside her only safe place in the outback.
Where the Road Bends Page 14