Into the Fog

by Sandi Wallace

  As she went to close the door, she heard something flap against it. She checked the coat hook. ‘Is this Hannah’s jacket?’

  Nicole tugged at her curly-haired ponytail. ‘Yeah.’

  Dread seeped into Georgie’s bones. Hannah was out in the storm donned in just leggings and a trackie top – she’d be soaked and freezing.

  How long could she last like that? And what about the boys?

  As she pulled Nicole’s door closed, Georgie glanced at Elke. The woman squirmed in her seat, then huddled over her belly, cradling it with both hands. She made a strangled sound and muttered something in a foreign language.

  ‘Are you okay, Elke?’

  The woman motioned her away.

  Georgie hesitated, wondering if she should try harder, not sure how Elke would react if she pushed. Through her weird job history, including fruit-picker, paralegal and now journo, she’d met and worked with people from all lifestyles and nationalities, including plenty of Europeans. But Elke and her husband were hard to work out and difficult to like. Sam had quietly commented on it too and Hannah had poked out her tongue behind the man’s back this afternoon.

  Just before she disappeared.

  Maybe they were just odd – that was no crime. Neither was being resentful of this massive intrusion into their normal lives.

  It’d been Sam’s idea to rotate their search areas. She figured the same principle would apply here as it did to writing essays, which she’d done a load of at the police academy: after a while, you see what you think you should be seeing, rather than what’s actually there. If they duplicated their previous searches, they could miss the same clues they’d missed before.

  So she started down the stairs to the cellar. The storm sounds muted and it grew colder and more shadowy with each tread. The wall sconces shed only a small radius of light.

  She swung the flashlight around her, directing its beam at the empty concrete stairs and a few lacy cobwebs weaving between the banisters and balustrade. She ignored a spider high on the wall and swept over the rest of the area.

  Shrugging off her unease, Sam stepped into the heart of the cellar, inhaling a fusion of mustiness and sweet and tangy smells, noting arches that split the area into cave-like sections and a fridge door that reminded her of a prison cell.

  Georgie zipped her leather jacket as she exited the main house, thinking again of Hannah and possibly the boys caught in the storm without a coat. She aimed her torch down the dark yard. The earlier wall of whiteness had dissolved into puffy threads, allowing her to see several metres ahead, but the going was tough as she ran into gusting wind that made her eyes water. It pummelled her, sometimes shunting her sideways or backwards.

  She ignored the rain pelting her scalp and stinging her lips, and sprinted for the caretaker’s residence at the bottom of the garden. With each squelching step, Georgie fluctuated between irritation, hope and fear.

  If the kids had nicked off for fun and turned up now, she wasn’t sure which she’d do first: celebrate or curse them for causing so much stress.

  Sam began with the coolroom, chilled air hitting her face as she opened the thick door. She propped it ajar with a crate, paranoid about being shut in and dying of hypothermia. She searched among the shelves and cardboard boxes, cringing at the animal carcasses hanging from hooks, glad she hadn’t eaten dinner as the scent of raw meat coated her nose and throat, even gladder when she flicked off the light and pulled the door closed.

  She went to the first cave, which contained preserved fruits, jams, chutneys and sauces, presumably yields from the property’s orchard. Sam checked under the workbench but found only implements for preserve making.

  In the next cave sat a large oak barrel circled by five bar stools. A table along the wall held a silver tray with heavy-based tumblers and a decanter of amber-coloured spirits. Further along, stemmed glasses were hooked on a rack beside a gadget that Sam had seen in wine bars, only this cork-puller had ornate brass work and a worn timber handle and looked a century old.

  There was no door to the barrel, no other hiding spots, so she moved on.

  The third zone had serious looking wine fridges. Nowhere for even a small child to hide. Similarly, the last cave held only timber wine racks filled with dozens of bottles.

  A soft bouquet of oak and liquor lingered in Sam’s nostrils as she exited the cellar, pleasant scents replacing the smell of meat, but still she was mildly nauseous. She’d gained nothing from her hunt. And more precious time had been lost.

  Georgie pushed through a thicket of trees and heavy droplets cascaded down her neck. She spotted a chocolate-coloured post-and-rail fence and stopped, drawing a deep breath.

  A quick arc of her torch revealed more post-and-rail fencing that ringed a vegie patch adjacent to a barn. Then a house – a two-storey version of the barn, with a chimney and a small porch. It made her think of the beautiful illustrations in the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales book her mum and dad gave her years ago that she’d forgotten all about after passing it on to her sister’s kids.

  A tall hedge blocked the rest of her view and she turned back to the centre of the yard. The structure there might be a wishing well; she wouldn’t know until she was closer. She blocked memories of movies and books where bodies were dumped in the well.

  Now that she had the lay of the land, Georgie became aware of the plume from her mouth, the heavy thud of her heart and the strong beam from her borrowed torch, and regretted her full-frontal approach. It came across as disorganised and impulsive.

  As she sensed eyes on her, the rain stopped and an eerie, repetitive noise started that she belatedly recognised as an owl.

  She set her shoulders and headed to the front door. Instead of a knocker or an electric doorbell, there was an oversized brass ship’s bell. A tug on the rope-pull made enough noise to wake anyone inside, even over the growls of thunder and gusty wind. Georgie shrank back.

  Her heart thumped in her chest when the door opened to Agterop’s angular, sneering face and cold blue eyes.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Three of our kids –’

  He held a palm up to her face and Georgie fought to control her anger.

  ‘I know. Wife told me.’

  ‘Can I check the house and your sheds?’

  ‘No.’ He began to close the door.

  ‘But the kids might be hiding or even hurt.’

  Agterop did the palm thing again and craned down, until their eyes were level. She held her ground.

  ‘I have looked. Everywhere inside my fence—the brown fence, yes?—I have checked. You go.’

  He stood back. ‘Get out.’ He slammed the door.

  Chapter 7

  Wind buffeted their unmarked car. Although on full bore, the heater was ineffectual against the air cutting through the windows. Franklin was so cold his bones ached.

  He watched Gus post a letter in the red mailbox on the street corner, far too cheery for the sleety rain and fierce wind. Then he waded through the overflowing gutter and slid into the beamer. The interior light stayed on inside the sedan and it was parked under a streetlight, so despite the blur of driving rain the cops were able to watch a discussion that included lots of nodding.

  Franklin couldn’t wait for the shift to finish. The showers at the Ballarat cop shop were funky but a hot one would warm his bones. He had to suffer through another few hours yet though.

  With a stab in his guts, it struck him that he hadn’t received further messages from Mount Dandenong, so the kids obviously hadn’t turned up. Here he was sooking about it being cold inside their car and having to wait to take a warm shower, while Hanny, Riley and Cooper could be wandering around lost in the hills, copping the full brunt of the storm.

  And that’s possibly the best-case scenario.

  He didn’t want to think about paedos or worse possibilities. Or that his mates were out there, searching.

  He pictured Kat and Georgie, his fists clenching, feeling useless.


  Georgie dialled Lunny’s number and got through this time.

  ‘Any luck?’ He sounded flat.

  ‘No. I think I’ll have another poke around Agterop’s place.’

  ‘Leave it for now. You’ve been at it over an hour and covered a lot of ground.’ Lunny paused for a clap of thunder. ‘It’s getting worse.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘No, Georgie. We’ll have to leave the rest of the grounds for now – at least we’ve finished a thorough check of the buildings. I’m calling everyone in. It’s time for a re-think.’

  Franklin’s vision glazed. The beamer’s taillights fuzzed in and out of focus.

  ‘Wake up.’ Knuckles connected with his right bicep.

  He cranked open his eyelids. ‘I was just resting my eyes.’

  ‘You were making me fall asleep.’

  Franklin shifted in the bucket seat, trying to find a part of his arse that didn’t feel bruised from sitting too long, and watched the car ahead indicate right. As they’d been doing for the past three hours, they followed in the beamer’s slipstream, tyres swishing through rain pelting the bitumen.

  A few further turns on, Franklin sat forward, resting a palm on the dashboard. ‘He could be going back to the house.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  While the beamer wound through backstreets, Franklin’s offsider squirmed, hands on the steering wheel in a rigid ten-and-two grip.

  Boomer moaned. ‘If he doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to piss myself.’

  The indicator blinked again. This right-hander would take the beamer up the driveway, back to where they’d started. The car came to a standstill.

  Boomer glared through the window, sweat dotting his lip. ‘Park the bloody car!’

  He did an eye-roll of relief when the beamer glided up the driveway. Gus stepped out, turned and threw them a wave, grinning.

  They parked, same spot as earlier, and Boomer stumbled out of the car. While he took the longest piss in history, Franklin stewed over the point of the beamer’s zigzagging journey around Ballarat.

  Gus might’ve pulled something off right under our noses by making everything look bloody transparent.

  Or maybe the point was to take us away from here – where the real action went down.

  Franklin shrugged as he slid a hand down his collar to massage a knot in his neck.

  His brain shifted from Ballarat to Mount Dandenong. No updates had to mean the kids were still missing and there hadn’t been any significant developments.

  Kat hadn’t made much sense in her voice message, but he gathered Riley and Cooper had separated from the main group, presumably to join their sister, and none of the three had been seen since.

  So it appeared that they’d run off. Maybe they hadn’t intended to run away, just wanted a bit of sneaky fun, then the weather or another unforeseen circumstance threw a spanner in the works.

  But the missing kids could be like their bullshit surveillance tonight – a deceit hidden within apparent transparency. The kids might’ve been set up, encouraged or made to separate from the camp.

  By someone known to them? Someone who tricked them?

  Kids liked to think they were smart and parents liked to think their youngsters were well-schooled in stranger danger, but there were endless ways to con them.

  Chapter 8

  It was only a little after ten, but Sam found herself swallowing a yawn when Lunny said to Josh, ‘You’re falling asleep standing there – go get some shut-eye.’ The early start, bus trip, then stressful last hours had depleted everyone.

  ‘Nah –’

  ‘Hit the sack for a bit, you’ll be better for it…go on. You too, Kat.’

  Both argued – Kat wouldn’t agree, but Josh finally did. The rest of them bunched around the island bar in the kitchen, sipping hot drinks.

  Sam said, ‘The girls, huh? Bit cheeky.’

  The sarge rubbed his eye and nodded. ‘They wanted to help.’

  ‘We’d have no chance of stopping them if they really meant to get outside.’ Sam pictured the numerous access doors and windows. ‘Reckon they’re asleep now?’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  After Lunny’s response, a suffocating hush fell and Sam grew concerned about Kat, who avoided eye contact and shivered in the well-heated house. Both were signs of shock.

  The sarge must’ve thought likewise because he said bluntly, ‘Kat, you look awful.’

  ‘Gee thanks.’

  Sam noted there was less fire than usual in the teenager’s retort and suggested again, ‘Go take a rest.’

  ‘No.’

  Sam exchanged a glance with Lunny, mentally messaging She’s not going to budge. Neither pushed and another silence descended. Georgie abandoned her half-finished coffee and shifted to lean against the fridge. She’d been moody since returning, thanks to her run-in with Agterop. Sam had seen her shut down before, but it still bothered her. When Georgie homed in on an idea or action, she could be unpredictable, even likely to gamble with her own safety.

  The last thing they needed right now.

  Maybe Georgie felt Sam’s scrutiny because she said, ‘I can’t believe I just backed off.’ She grimaced. ‘I should’ve put my foot in the door to make him talk to me. I let him win.’

  ‘Ah, but it’s not a game,’ Lunny commented. ‘It’s not a matter of who won or lost the round.’

  Georgie gave him a dubious look.

  ‘He was hostile. You did the right thing not taking him on.’

  She pushed off from the fridge, her shoulders squared. ‘I’m going back. I’m going to search his sheds, even if he won’t let me into the house. And I’m going to ask him to account for his movements.’

  Sam saw the sarge shake his head. His eyes travelled over her, Georgie and Kat.

  ‘Nope. It’s too nasty out there for any of us to be on foot.’ Lunny cleared his throat. ‘But we haven’t done a road-search yet, so I’m taking the minivan out. Sam, you’re in charge here. Kat and Georgie, want to come?’

  Kat snapped upright. ‘Yeah.’

  Georgie lifted her palms in a half-hearted agreement.

  Sam prickled at her exclusion. She couldn’t do much here but watch the seconds tick over and pray the kids would be all right. But she understood Lunny’s strategy. In the poor conditions, he’d need another set of eyes. A trained set—Sam’s—would’ve been preferable, but if they left Kat alone, she might lose it completely. And if Georgie remained at base, she would take off to the caretaker’s property and could vanish.

  Georgie stared through the window of the minivan, brooding over her handling of Agterop. She’d make amends as soon as possible.

  Her mind flipped to Lunny, Sam and Kat. They’d all started to quietly freak out. Their fear was infectious and she was losing faith that the kids were just mucking around. Various scenarios—none good—swirled in her mind as wildly as the gumtrees that lined the driveway.

  One of her gravest worries was the effect this would have on Kat. At only sixteen, she wasn’t much older than Hannah, and the girls were close. Georgie had heard Kat talk about their unofficial big sister–little sister relationship and she knew Franklin’s daughter had nominated the Savage kids for the camp.

  Georgie pushed her mind away from Kat and instead stewed over the other kids.

  These kids have issues – they’ve dealt with stuff they shouldn’t have had to or have done it tough in other ways. What will happen to them if Hannah and the boys…

  She cut off the thought.

  As Lunny exited the drive onto View Road, Georgie drummed her fingers, timing the beat of her left hand with the patter of rain. Soon, the drumming and her pulse had taken on the rhythm of the mid-section of Bohemian Rhapsody: staccato, escalating. Her subconscious had aptly matched music to the deluge, thunder and lightning.

  A burn sliced through her hand and her nerves jangled right up to her shoulder. The combination of an electrical storm and stress had aggravated old wounds, reminders of a
different search with a heartbreaking outcome.

  Annoyed, she tamped down the pain and the past. She needed to be strong for everyone else. Her brain switched on, centred on finding the kids.

  Georgie peered at the scene through the glass. Flashes of lightning lit up the whipping gums. She expected their van to be squashed any moment. The road resembled a war zone. Gravel, water, branches, metal, debris of all types everywhere. They drove into a thick patch of fog just as something lashed the sides of the vehicle.

  Georgie heard Kat take a sharp breath from the back seat and then ask, ‘What was that?’

  She waggled her head, unsure. Then a strip of bark swathed the windscreen, tangling the wipers.

  Lunny swore softly, stopped the van and activated the hazard lights. Georgie doubted other drivers would spot the blinkers in time and told Kat to brace in case they were rear-ended.

  Before Georgie could offer help, Lunny muttered and lurched out the driver’s door. He ran to the passenger side, where he wrestled with the hood of his jacket and lost the battle. Then he struggled to free the wipers, sprinted back and threw himself into the cabin.

  ‘Don’t say anything.’

  Illuminated by the dashboard lights, he glared at her, then at Kat in the rear-view mirror, while water streamed from his head.

  Kat giggled and it was as contagious as fear. Georgie joined in and uncontrolled laughter flushed some of her tension and exhaustion, especially when Lunny chuckled along.

  Their laughter dried up and Lunny pulled the van onto the road.

  Dread soon weighed on Georgie again. They couldn’t see anything and were more likely to be struck by lightning than sight Hanny and the boys. She clamped her lips, internalising her thoughts.

  A few minutes later, Kat spoke. Her voice was small and gravelly from behind. ‘We’re not going to see them in this weather, are we, Lunster?’