by Ken Douglas
Ragged Man
Ken Douglas
Ken Douglas
Ragged Man
Chapter One
Rick Gordon spun around the turn, saw the problem ahead. He fought the wheel, made a hard left to avoid hitting the overturned Jeep. Then he was into the slide. He cranked the wheel more to the left, into the direction of it. Too far, he felt the rear wheels slide right, spinning the wheel back, he regained control as he hit the dust. Downshifting, gently riding the accelerator, the Toyota Land Cruiser hydroplaned over six inches of fine red bull dust, like driving over baby powder.
He turned back to the right, red dust flying from all four tires, losing traction again, correcting, driving blind, then back on the track, shooting out of the cloud. He made it around the Jeep. Shifting down into third, hitting the brakes, then second, he stopped the car, turned to look back at the Jeep that would race no more.
“ I’m okay, get going!” the driver yelled.
Rick flashed a smile, waved, shoved in the clutch, shifted into first and was off.
The track went straight out for the next ten kilometers. Sometimes barely wide enough to give the Toyota room between the desert growth. Sometimes through sharp rocks that ripped into the tires when traveling at speed. Sometimes no road or track at all, nothing but fine red sand till vision’s end.
Looking ahead, afraid to blink, he tried to go faster than he knew he should, the thrill of speed overcoming the fear. He floored the Toyota, shifting through the gears a hair before redline. They were sailing, determined to make it one more day.
“ Gully coming up, half a click, double caution!” Ann called out, reading from the rally instructions. A click was a kilometer and an explanation mark on the instructions meant caution, two, double caution, meaning that the terrain was even more dangerous, and three of those vertical black lines with periods under them meant extreme caution.
He downshifted into fourth, tapping the brakes as he went into third, standing hard on them for the briefest time as he went into second, left foot flying between clutch and brake pedal, the right keeping the accelerator on the floor. He took his foot off the brakes inches before the front tires hit the gully and the Toyota floated over the depression in the earth. Then he punched the clutch, shifting again into third, then fourth and, as they picked up speed again, fifth.
“ Another double, quarter click!” Ann shouted.
“ Here we go again!” Rick shouted back as he did it all again, downshifting, braking, releasing, clearing the gully and back up through the gears.
“ Perfect, two in a row and both perfect!” Her voice cracked above the roar of the engine. “But you have to do it again in half a click and it’s a double.”
For the third time in as many minutes Rick found himself downshifting, preparing to glide over another of the many depressions nature had made in the dry desert earth. Minutes ago they were sliding in fine dust six inches deep and now they were traversing dry caked ground, jumping gullies made by long dead waterways and up ahead, more dust.
Double clutching, he slammed the Toyota into second, but he misjudged his timing and jumped on the brakes a fraction of a second late. The front tires hit air as he released the pedal.
“ Oh shit, hang on!”
Despite his error in judgment, the front tires cleared the gully, but the rear wheels hit hard, knocking Ann’s wind away as Rick fought the wheel.
“ Flat,” she gasped.
“ Yeah.” He pulled well off the track.
He stopped the Toyota and they jumped out. Ann reached the rear door first, tossed Rick the tire iron. He started loosening the lug nuts as she pulled one of the spares and the jack out of the back. By the time he had the lug nuts loose, she had the car jacked and was ready with the spare. The operation took less than five minutes. Then they were back on the road.
“ Straight out two clicks, no problems, then a sharp left, then a gate,” Ann said as he sped through the gears.
“ Let’s hit it.” He accelerated until they were sailing along at a hundred and sixty kilometers per hour.
“ Slow down, dust ahead, too slow to be another racer.”
“ Camels,” he said.
“ A herd,” she said.
Slowing to match the speed of the desert beasts, he punched the horn, scattering the camels.
Passing through the terrified animals, he started to pick up speed, anticipating the sharp left. Then he was downshifting and lightly riding the brakes into the turn. Once through it, he brought the car to a complete stop. Ann jumped out and opened the cattle gate. He drove through and waited for her to close it.
They were racing across vast cattle stations, one of them rumored to be larger than the state of Texas. The owners received no compensation for the use of their lands. All they asked was that the racers close their cattle gates when passing through. No racer liked losing time, but they all did it. They wanted to use the lands again next year.
They were five days into and halfway through the “Australian Safari” desert raid, sixty-five hundred kilometers of desert off-road racing from Sydney to Darwin, and the hard days and desert nights were taking their toll. Ann knew her husband was dog tired, but she also knew he wouldn’t quit. When he started something, he finished it. That’s the way he was.
The day was only half over and they were already getting edgy. They had been driving hard since six-thirty in the morning and they had done well. His driving was improving and so was their position. She was looking forward to getting in before dark for a change and thinking of the early start they would get tomorrow, starting with the pros, when she saw the dust cloud. Another cloud of bull dust and they were gaining on it. The closer they got to the lead, the harder it was to pass. The speeds were faster, the drivers were more determined.
This was the part she hated, passing in the dust. The red bull dust in central Australia is one of the finest powders in the world and when a car going a hundred and forty kilometers per hour flies through it, it creates a dust cloud that turns a clear bright day into a red haze, visibility zero.
Passing in the dust is an art. The driver has to try to see the road ahead of the cloud, remember where it goes, then plow into the dust as fast as he’s able, pass and hope the road is where it’s supposed to be when he gets there. While in the dust, he’s driving blind.
“ Ann, can you get his numbers?”
“ I have ’em.” She picked up the mike, shouted into it, “Two-fifteen, two-fifteen, pull over, car behind wanting to pass.” The dust cloud slowed and they drove into the red haze, passing the competitor. Ann got a quick glimpse of her as they passed. “It’s the girl singer from Japan.”
“ Up ahead,” Rick said.
She looked, saw another cloud of dust and tightened her stomach as Rick tightened his grip on the wheel in anticipation of the possible danger ahead. She knew he hated the passing part just as much as she did.
The track made a thirty degree turn to the right and Ann caught the numbers on the right side of the auto ahead. She grabbed the mike. “One-two-four, one-two-four, pull over, we want to pass.” This time the dust cloud didn’t slow and give way.
“ What’s wrong with the son-of-a-bitch? Call him again.”
“ One-two-four, do you copy? We are on your tail, wanting to pass. If you don’t pull over, we will push.”
“ His radio’s out! Lord, I hate this. Hold on, here we go!” He eased down the accelerator and headed into the dust. “Can you see anything?”
“ No! Yes, take it easy. Now!”
Gently, but not gently enough, he nudged the car in front, causing it to squirrel.
“ Rick, he knows we’re here. Look out! He’s losing it! Come on fella, get it back. He’s got it Rick. He’s pulling over now.”
&n
bsp; “ That was close!” Rick shouted as they passed.
“ One more click, then a hard left,” she called out. “I’ll let you know.” Less than a minute later she let him know. “Okay, make your left now.” And as they made the turn, she saw tracks heading straight out and she wondered if she’d gotten it right.
They followed the track for two kilometers, then they slammed into a gully that wasn’t on the rally instructions. The Land Cruiser bottomed out, hard, smashing the oil filter into the front differential, cracking it and spraying precious engine oil over the undercarriage and the ground. Rick, unaware of the damage, kept driving. The engine blew before he completed another kilometer, leaving him no choice but to pull off the dirt track.
Within seconds they knew they were off course. The gully wasn’t on the rally instructions.
“ No tracks,” Rick said.
“ Off course, I messed up. Sorry.”
“ I should have stopped when we hit. If I’d been checking the gauges, I would’ve seen the pressure drop.”
“ What now?” she asked.
“ Radio for help.”
She heard him using the radio as she checked under the car. After confirming that the oil filter was out of commission, she went to the back and opened the tailgate, but it was no use, they had no spare filter. If only she’d paid better attention to the rally instructions, she thought, as she heard Rick trying to raise someone on the CB.
“ Radio’s broke,” he said.
“ Are we in trouble?”
“ Not really. We have plenty of oil. We’ll drive slow and keep pouring it in as we lose it. We should be back to the course well before the last car goes by. The sweep car will pick us up.”
“ It’s my fault,” she said. “If I’d called that last turn right, we wouldn’t be here.”
“ Plenty of blame to go around,” he said. “If I’d paid better attention to the gauges, we wouldn’t be here either.”
“ It’s more my fault than yours,” she said.
“ Someone’s coming,” Rick said.
“ Who could it be?” She followed his pointed finger with her eyes, saw a slow moving cloud of dust coming toward them.
“ Beats me.”
A few minutes later a vintage Jeep stopped alongside the stricken Land Cruiser. An old Aborigine was driving. Sitting next to him was an even older looking woman, obviously not well. The old man had a weathered, wrinkled face that spoke of great sadness. His silver hair, reflecting the sun’s glow, gave him an angelic appearance.
“ Can we help you?” Rick said.
“ Yes you can.” The aging Aborigine got out of the open top Jeep, taking every step deliberately, stiffly. “My wife is dying.”
“ What can we do?” Rick asked.
“ Bury us.”
“ I’d rather go for help.”
“ I wish you could, but our time has come.”
“ You said your wife was dying?” Ann said.
“ I won’t live long after she goes.”
“ How do you know?” Ann said.
“ I know.”
“ What can we do?” Rick asked again.
“ Help make her comfortable.”
Ann walked over to the passenger side of the Jeep. The door handle was hot to the touch, but it was more than just the heat that gave her a slight start as she grabbed it.
“ Is there anything I can do to help you?” She asked.
The old woman opened her eyes and Ann looked into dark brown pools that spoke of a youth trapped in a decaying body.
“ My time has come, child.” She smiled, saying it with a thick Australian accent.
“ How can you know that?”
“ Take my hand.” She had a firm grasp that turned Ann’s knuckles white, then the old woman’s grip went slack.
“ She’s gone,” Ann said, tears welling up. “I don’t understand.”
“ You can bury us off the road. There is no need to mark the graves.” The old man grasped Rick’s hand, then collapsed. True to his word, he was gone too.
“ What’s happening?” Ann said.
“ I’m not sure, but I feel as if we should do what he asked.”
“ We don’t even know their names,” Ann said.
“ We have to bury them.” Rick kicked up sand as he walked to the rear of the Toyota.
“ We can’t just dig a hole and cover them with dirt.”
“ What else can we do?”
“ Go and tell someone.”
“ That would be wrong.”
“ How do you know?”
“ I just know.” He started unloading the car, pulling out the spare tires, tool chest and the tent before he came to the shovel.
“ We can never tell anybody about this, can we?” she said.
“ No, I don’t think so.” He sighed. “We’re through with the Toyota. Get what you think we’ll need and put it in the Jeep.”
He took twenty paces off the road, far enough that the bodies would be left undisturbed by the rare passing car, and started to dig into the dry, hard ground.
Ann finished unpacking the Toyota, taking out the emergency water, food rations, sleeping bags and their backpacks. She left the tent Rick had unloaded on the ground and put the rest into the back of the Jeep. Then she went over to Rick.
“ Let me take a turn at the digging. I don’t want you to have a heart attack and die, too.” Ann, only a year younger than his forty-eight, was in much better shape. She ate better and did aerobics four or five times a week to keep up her figure.
“ I’m going to get some water.” He gave up the shovel. “Want some?”
“ It’s in the Jeep,” she said, “and bring the tent when you come back.”
“ What for?”
“ We’re going to wrap them in it. We can’t just throw dirt on them. It isn’t right.”
He walked the distance back to the car and Ann saw that he was done in. His heavy breathing told her that two months of swimming twenty laps in the pool every day to get in shape for the race hadn’t made up for twenty years of meat, potatoes and prime time television.
She dug steadily for fifteen minutes, till he spelled her, then she dug again. It took two hours before they had a two foot grave. Another two, before they reached four feet, when they called it quits.
Ann lined the grave with their two man tent and smoothed it out so no dirt would touch the bodies. After she was satisfied everything was in order, she motioned for Rick to go and get the old man. He carried him like a child and with Ann’s help, they lowered him into the ground.
“ I’ll go and get the woman,” he said.
“ No, let me.” Ann got up and went to the Jeep, wondering if she’d be able to do it. She had expected the woman’s skin to have the clammy feel of death that she’d read about in the Ken Douglas thrillers she liked to read, but it didn’t. This old woman seemed to be resting, at peace, not dead.
She slid her arms under the body and carefully lifted her out of the Jeep. She was so light, so old and so comforting. All of Ann’s doubts about whether or not they were doing the right thing vanished as she carried her to her final resting place and laid her beside her husband.
“ They look so peaceful,” she said.
“ They do,” Rick said.
“ Let’s do it.” She knelt and wrapped the tent around them.
“ Yeah.” Rick started to cover them with dirt and sand and gradually their wrapped bodies disappeared from view.
“ I hope we live up to you,” Ann said when he finished and was patting down the top of the grave.
“ Why did you say that?”
“ I don’t know.”
“ Let’s go,” he said.
“ What about our car?” she asked. “If they find it, they’ll find them.” She pointed to the fresh mound of dirt.
“ With a little oil it’ll make it back to the race course. We’ll leave it there.”
Three hours later they were driving about twenty kilometers an
hour over dry cracked ground, when Rick saw a pack of dingoes loping off in the distance. Although they were bundled well against the cold that comes with the night in the desert, the sight of the animals gave him a chilly, uneasy feeling.
During the race they had seen several of the wild dogs, but these were different, they seemed somehow menacing. Rick felt an electricity in the air and sensed that Ann felt it as well.
“ Look!” she said. “They’re running along with us.”
He picked up the speed to thirty-five K. The wild dogs followed suit. Forty-five K and the dogs sped up as well, getting closer. He could imagine a point up ahead where they would meet. He turned right, away from the intersecting dogs on their left, and wondered how far off the road they were.
Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the dogs turn to follow, but they didn’t appear to be gaining. He wished he could go faster, but he didn’t want to take the chance of hitting one of the sharp rocks that peppered the dry ground. A flat he didn’t need, but a flat he got.
Slowing, he was surprised to see that the dogs maintained their distance. And when he stopped the car, the dingoes stopped their pursuit, keeping a football field’s distance behind, fading into the shadows of the sunset.
He didn’t relish changing the tire and the biting desert evening would normally be enough for him to set up camp on the spot. He probably would have built a fire, made coffee, eaten and changed the tire in the morning. He was out of the race now. However, with the wild dogs so close in the shadows, it seemed best to get the spare on and get away before dark.
Keeping his eyes on the predators behind, he shut off the ignition, put on the emergency brake, jumped out of the Jeep, grabbed the jack and tire iron and unbolted the spare. His fingers burned with the cold as he loosened the lug nuts, while Ann jacked the car. They replaced the tire with race speed, then they hopped back in the Jeep. Rick cranked the ignition, popped the clutch, hit the lights and they sped off.
Once they started moving, the dogs started moving too. Fuck the rocks, he thought. He wanted to be back on a road before the sun faded altogether.