by Anya Allyn
“Excellent. Those are big camping destinations. They're sure to have winter camp programs. And going camping will explain all the gear we’ll be taking with us.”
She wrote out a list of things we’d need. It was long. I’d never been camping before and wouldn’t have guessed you’d need so much stuff.
Within the next hour, the plan was solid. I rang my mother from Lacey’s house and went hard on the needing time away theme, especially playing on the guilt aspect—hinting that I felt that I’d missed out when Lance left us and didn’t take us to see all the places he’d promised. It was true—I hadn’t been anywhere in this country except here and Sydney.
Mom chatted with Mrs. Dougherty, and they seemed to nut out their hesitations together.
We’d spend the weekend at home—then Mrs. Dougherty would drive us to Myall Lake on Monday. Only we’d convince her to let us take the bus when the time came—she was so much more blasé about things like that than my mother.
7. BLACK WINDS
Lacey and I trekked the same path that we’d travelled with Ethan and Aisha. It was almost as if it was just another bushwalk, except this time our backs were heavily laden and the wind was icy. The air hurt the insides of my nostrils and made my eyes sting. I wound the scarf higher around my face.
In my mind’s eye I saw Aisha stopping to carefully frame a photo, wisps of dark hair blowing around her face. It was the exact spot a large paradise bird had picked its way out from between the ferns, speckles of light dancing upon its shimmering aqua feathers.
There was no photographing and recording on this trip—just a relentless walking pace. We reached Devils Hole two hours earlier than we had last time.
Gazing up and down at the woods, I jumped from foot to foot, trying to warm myself. We'd found the general spot where Ethan had taken us all off the track last time, but not the exact spot. And if you didn't find the exact spot, then you could easily end up hours away from where you wanted to be.
Lacey pointed a small, ripped piece of police barrier tape still attached a tree. We stepped over to the tape. If you looked closely here, you could see snapped twigs on trees—a sign that many people had recently passed through. There had been many dozens of search and rescue teams looking for Aisha.
“This has to be it,” Lacey said.
I followed her into the bush.
It seemed even colder in the midst of the trees, with barely any sun touching us.
I exhaled slowly when the sound of running water announced itself below the bird calls. Lacey and I practically ran towards it. We followed the river to the point where it intersected the other river. She jumped nimbly from one rock to the other as we trailed along the edges of the second river.
“I keep expecting to run into Ethan any minute.” I recalled watching the wiry slope of his back as he negotiated the river.
“He could be anywhere. It’s a big place. We may not even see him at all up here.”
I realized then that I really, really wanted to see Ethan. Even just to see his face and know he was okay.
The stunted, big-eared wallabies were drinking at the water’s edge ahead. I wondered if they were the same ones we’d seen last time. A miniature joey leapt into its mother’s pouch, bundling itself in against the cold.
“I need to pee,” Lacey announced.
A shadow that could have been a human shape flitted between two trees ahead. I reached to grab Lacey’s arm. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“Someone. Up further.”
“Okay, maybe we found Ethan after all.”
“No, smaller than Ethan I think.”
We stared at each other.
Aisha?
“Could have been a wallaby up on his hind legs,” she said quickly, but she stepped behind a tree and gestured for me to do the same.
We crept from tree to tree like thieves, until we daren’t go closer. First came a sound of something heavy dragging across the ground, and then a voice, a deep voice.
Not Aisha.
Not Ethan.
We pressed our backs in the tree. The voice came closer, clearer. Lacey pushed record on her phone:
By the sacred radiance of the sun
The mysteries of Hecate and the night
By all the operation of the orbs
From whom we do exist and cease to be
Swallowed its children and all destiny
“What the?” Lacey whispered.
I twisted myself around. There was the tiniest space between two branches, no bigger than my little finger. On the tips of my toes, I rose to take a look. Lacey looked up at me, her face warning me not to make myself seen.
A thin man of about thirty set down a large hessian sack. He bent to take a shovel from the ground. With more force than I imagined a man his size could muster, he struck the ground with the shovel. He dug deep into the earth, sweat running from his temples.
Stopping to wipe his face with a handkerchief, he stared around the forest. I closed my eyes, praying that he didn’t see me. But he’d have to have the eyes of a hawk to notice me through the tiny space.
I slid down the tree trunk to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Lacey. “He’s burying a large sack.”
“A sack? How big?’
“Big enough.” I knew Lacey would know what I meant.
He crouched to heave the sack into the hole he’d dug, and then he shoveled dirt on top of the sack. Kicking leaves on top of the dirt, he seemed satisfied with his work. He traipsed away with the shovel and sack over his shoulder.
I stared down at Lacey. She nodded. “We’ll just give it a few seconds more.”
Hard taps hit Lacey and me in the middle of our backs. I froze—then whipped around, ready to fight or run.
Ethan’s face was in front of mine, hard and incensed. “What are you two doing here?”
“A man just buried a sack. We're digging it up,” Lacey told him.
Ethan’s eyes widened as he mouthed the word, buried.
He raced after us to the freshly-turned dirt and mud. Throwing himself to his knees, he began digging with his hands—dirt flying in the air. Lacey and I dug from the other end.
My fingers touched the rough hessian. Whatever was beneath the sack felt both hard and soft in places.
Ethan hauled the sack up by himself, grunting with the effort. Lacey tried to undo the ties, but they held fast. Ethan reached into his back pocket and produced a Stanley knife. Pulling the hessian up, he cut into the fabric.
The smell was the first thing that hit my nose. I didn’t know what a dead body should smell like, but that wasn’t it. The insides of the sack smelled more like rotting food.
Ethan let out a sound that sounded both of anger and anguish. Tin cans, empty packets of oatmeal and moldy bread spilled from the sack. All of it was compressed tightly and the cans had been flattened.
Lacey rocked back on her heels, exhausted.
“It looked like Henry Fiveash himself," I said. "The guy from the photograph. So he was just burying his trash. I guess there's no services out this way."
Ethan was already walking away, cursing to himself. Lacey and I did our best to cover the hessian sack over again, and then we trailed after Ethan. He didn’t speak or turn around for the twenty minutes it took to return to his campsite. He’d positioned the camp in the midst of high crops of rocks—a good place if you wanted to hide out.
He seated himself on a fallen log next to his tent. “You girls shouldn’t be here.” He raised an eyebrow at me.
Guiltily, I knelt to take the cumbersome backpack from my shoulders. "I just... thought we could help."
"Yep and any minute now, Lacey's dad, and the whole frigging police force will be charging up the mountains."
"Here we go again." Lacey shook her head. "I am not my father. I don't represent the police. I hate my father, if you must know."
Ethan snorted scornfully. "So you're here just to spite him?"
"No. I'm here because o
f Aisha. She was my friend a long time before she was your girlfriend you know."
"Ethan," I said quietly, "no one knows we're here. We made sure of that."
“Just go home, both of you.”
Lacey folded her arms, skinny elbows sticking out. “We don’t have to camp next to you, if you don’t want us to—but we’re staying.”
Scowling, Ethan turned his head back to the campsite. “Well, you're here now. Nothing I can do about that. You can set up there.”
Lacey was quick about unrolling the tent and laying it out. Ethan watched for a moment, then pulled himself to his feet and helped her hammer the pegs in with a small rock.
I undid the tie from my sleeping bag and placed the bag next to Lacey’s in the tent. She wasn’t kidding when she said there was only just enough room for two people and our stuff. It seemed so claustrophobic in there but I guessed you didn’t notice the confined space when you were asleep.
Lacey and I opened up our sandwiches and ate in silence. Ethan refused any of our food, although he didn’t seem to have much of his own.
“Well, we’re heading off now, Ethan,” said Lacey.
Ethan didn’t look up. “I spent yesterday and this morning around Thunderbolt’s Way. So don’t bother going there.”
“We didn’t plan to. We were going to be close to the house,” I told him.
His shoulders tensed. “I'm not going to let you do that. The way you girls blunder through the forest, that guy will spot you and maybe even follow you back to the campsite."
“Okay, well we'll go someplace else and search.”
Ethan snickered. “Search for what? You girls looking for more buried garbage?”
“C’mon,” I said. “If you’d seen a guy buying a sack, you’d have dug it up too.”
“Maybe. So what are you looking for?”
“Never mind. You’d think it stupid,” Lacey told him.
She guided me from the campsite by the elbow, until we were well away from Ethan.
We walked on towards the river.
“I’d rather Ethan didn’t know what we were doing,” she said in a quiet tone.
“Why? He might even help.”
“It’s just... I just think we’re better doing this on our own.”
“Don’t tell me you suspect Ethan of anything? Lacey?”
Light fell on her delicate profile. She let her hair swing forward, as though placing a veil between herself and me.
“No. But, just... well he seems different. Did you notice?”
I stared intently at her for a moment. I hated to admit it, but she was right. Ethan had a coldness, a hard edge to him he hadn't had before. But I lied and told her that he seemed the same to me. I don't know why. It just seemed like everyone had been talking behind Ethan's back ever since the day Aisha vanished.
Lacey’s pale eyes were round. “What if... Ethan didn't do anything, but he's protecting someone? Maybe protecting his grandfather, or maybe someone else. I hate myself saying this, but what if the real reason he's here is to cover something up?"
"Lace, no way. C'mon, we're talking about Ethan here. He wouldn't do that."
"There's always sides to people you don't know about. Yeah, so I learned that from my dad. And, well, there's a side to Ethan that maybe you don't know. Aish told me something a couple of days before the hike. She said Ethan had asked her outright when she was going to sleep with him, and he kind of blew up when she said she wasn’t ready. Like, got really angry.”
“Really?” I hadn’t been expecting that.
“Yeah.”
I scratched my fingernails into the palm of one hand. That wasn’t the picture I’d conjured up in my mind of how he’d be if he were my boyfriend. I couldn’t imagine saying no to him, but I also couldn’t imagine him getting angry over something like that.
Mom’s old boyfriend, Lance, came into my mind. He’d been a liar. And mom didn’t even suspect. I’d liked Lance—he’d seemed open and funny. So how did you ever really know for sure when people were telling lies or the truth?
We reached the river in silence, stepping along the stones. I balanced carefully—trying to avoid getting wet shoes and socks.
Aisha had fallen in that river, not long before she disappeared. As night fell, she would have been wet and freezing. If she’d even made it to night alive.
I shivered.
“Hey,” said Lacey. “Should we head down Thunderbolt’s Way?”
“Didn’t Ethan tell us he’d already been all over that?”
Lacey shrugged in a deliberate way.
I took a full breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Half an hour ago, it would have seemed pointless for us to go over the same ground Ethan had. Now, my thoughts were murky. Was I becoming like everyone else? Going against Ethan? No, I told myself. You’re just checking things out, staying open. Aisha deserved that much.
We packed up enough food and supplies to last a day and headed towards Thunderbolt’s Way.
* * * *
Twisted ghost gums leant over Captain Thunderbolt’s Lookout—trying to mount a defensive position, guarding an onslaught from the savage mountains below.
Could Aisha have run this far? It had taken us almost two hours to walk here. We stepped into and around the trees, looking for something—anything—that shouldn’t be there.
The search parties back in May hadn’t turned up anything—not the faintest hint or clue. Everywhere I looked I could see and hear the clamor and frenzy of the first search. The teams had combed every square foot of Devils Hole and surrounds—sniffer dogs barking and eager to run on their leashes, police streaming in and out of the old house like busy ants.
Day after day after day had passed with no sign of Aisha. Then weeks went on where search teams spread out further and further, until the day they told Aisha's family they had to call the search off. Aisha’s parents had leant on each other like buildings weathering a cyclone, their faces frozen under the gray sky.
At noon, I lunched on bagels and muesli bars. Lacey had an apple and a packet of rice crisps, and didn’t finish either of those.
We headed off down Honeysuckle Forest Track. I tried to think like someone who didn’t want to be found—heading off the track where the growth wasn’t too dense but dense enough to hide in. And trying like crazy to cling to my belief that Aisha had run away. After two hours, I had nothing but scratches on my hands to show for my efforts.
I watched as shadows crept longer and longer across the forest floor, and trees in the distance darkened.
“We have to get back.” I tried to sound casual.
Night approached with terrifying speed as we made our way back to the campsite.
Lacey and I had a quick dinner of baked beans and toast, and then sat with our chins resting on our knees. We only had a small solar lamp, and its frail white light had none of the warmth and reassurance of a real fire.
Wherever Ethan had gone, he hadn’t returned.
Lacey leant back and yawned. “Time to crash.”
It was too early for me to sleep. At home I’d be watching some stupid sitcom with mom around this time of night.
We quickly cleaned up and moved into the tent. Lacey zipped herself into her sleeping bag, apologizing for poking my ribs with her sharp elbow. Tonight was the closest I’d ever slept next to someone since I was a baby—and I didn’t remember being a baby. It felt strange, almost too intimate. Not having siblings, I’d never even done the rough and tumble thing with another child. Back in Miami, I really didn’t even have any close friends. That was just how it was.
My stomach hurt—I realized I was still hungry. I took out two chocolate bars from my backpack, and offered Lacey one.
“No thanks—already brushed my teeth.” She curled up on her side.
I knew she probably wouldn’t have taken the chocolate anyway.
Licking the last of the chocolate from my fingers, I tried to settle into sleep. Lacey seemed deep in slumber already. She sle
pt a lot. I wondered if that was because she never had much energy—she didn’t eat enough to keep a flea going.
Impenetrable darkness surrounded me, drawing me in, dragging me down. Shutting my eyes, I tried to picture something to block out the night—favorite video clips, music, school, parties I’d been to—and Ethan.
But Ethan was out there, somehow part of the night. And I didn’t even know if I knew him, anymore.
Sounds of the forest grew louder as the night wound on. Layers of screeching bird calls, rustles and crashes through the bush, and a low, raucous baying. From the lookout at Devils Hole, the forests seemed wild yet serene. But at night the forests were a maelstrom of noise carried on black winds.
8. THE DECISION
Weak sunlight woke me. I’d slept right through until eight.
Ethan’s tent flapped open to the morning breeze—the tent looking desolate. I couldn’t tell whether he had been back there during the night or not.
Maybe he'd abandoned us, taken off on his own.
I stuck my head inside his tent. There was nothing except a sleeping bag and a dog-eared notepad. He must have taken his backpack, wherever he was.
I picked up the notepad. He'd drawn the Fiveash house in perfect perspective—not so much artistic as trying to get every detail correct.
As I flipped in a few pages, I noticed that these entries were older, maybe from before Aisha vanished. Page after page of pencil drawings of trees. Above the ground, the scenes appeared pleasant—nature scenes of forests—but below the ground, the surreal roots twisted and surged and seethed, trapping small animals and other plants.
I flipped back another few pages. There was some kind of ledger, with bills and mortgage amounts penciled in. The next pages held crazy scrawled writings—crossed out and written every which way. One entry was a note about a math assignment, dated a year ago. I turned the notepad on an angle to read another of the entries:
There's echoes in your voice, everything you said