by Frank Tayell
The plane juddered, bounced, accelerated, and the force pushed him back in the seat. Pete barely noticed. His mind was lost in the past. He couldn’t recall the last thing he’d said to Corrie that last time he’d seen her. He did remember, like it was yesterday, when she’d not shown up to their not-a-Christmas-dinner three months later. That was the only tradition they’d kept from the days when they were both children. Each year, on December sixth, they would go to a diner to eat the most un-festive meal they could think of. Every year. Even during the bad ones. Until she didn’t show up.
Her disappearance was a wound that had never healed, so he’d bandaged it with anger and rage, with miserable depression, and then, finally, two years ago, with acceptance. That was shortly after Mrs Mathers had given him the job at the carpet store. Although, and he was only realising this now, a more honest way of describing it was shortly after he’d first met Olivia.
Everything had been going great. Better than great. As good as it ever could possibly be. But no one won the lottery without buying a ticket. There was no promotion. No induction in Honolulu. Presumably, there was no six-figure salary. There was only a desperate billionaire whose company was about to collapse. Ms Kempton had admitted as much. And if she was so desperate she’d fly him halfway around the world to get an ex-employee to call her, then surely that collapse was guaranteed.
He reached for his phone, an instinctive impulse to call Olivia. Remembering the camera by which the pilots could observe him, he decided to leave his phone where it was. Besides, he could see his future far more clearly than a few hours ago, and once again, it was going to contain a lot of uncomfortable interviews with the authorities. Anything he said to Olivia, she’d only have to repeat to them.
“We’re levelling off,” Rampton said over the unseen intercom. “We’ll reach cruising speed in another few minutes. The galley’s behind you. There’s beer in the fridge, and some steaks you can cook in the microwave. It’s pre-set three.”
“Thanks,” Pete said, uncertain whether the pilot could hear him. Steak and a beer? It sounded like a last meal.
Chapter 2 - Where the Outback Begins
Broken Hill, New South Wales
19th February, Eleven Hours Before the Outbreak
Pete wished there was a mirror, but there wasn’t one aboard the plane. He wished the shirt was looser fitting. Though if he were wishing, he’d wish that he’d kept his New Year’s resolution and joined Olivia jogging. In the shock of the company’s sale, then the even greater shock of the promotion, exercise had been ignored if not entirely forgotten. Besides, in the depths of winter, what did it matter if he was carrying a few extra pounds? Except it wasn’t winter. Not here.
It was a little over twenty-four hours since they’d left the night-time, snow-dusted familiarity of Indiana. Outside, in a twist that should rightly be considered magic, it was morning, and it was summer.
Pete pulled on the boots. Like the shirt and trousers, they were pale blue and mustard-yellow, a close approximation of the company’s blue and gold colour scheme. This was his second change of clothes since leaving South Bend. The first had been made as they were approaching Hawaii, when he’d donned a steward’s uniform. That simple disguise had been in case anyone boarded the plane. No one had, and he’d not thought to ask why a disguise was needed until they were in the air again. That was when he’d been told their final destination was Australia.
“If you could buckle up,” Rampton said over the hidden intercom, “we’re coming in to land.”
Pete sat.
Australia. His sister was in Australia. Why was she in Australia? How was she making a living? After she’d quit working for her employer, and before she properly disappeared, she’d told him she’d tried farming alpacas. Was she doing something like that here? And where, exactly, on a continent-sized island on the other side of the world, was here?
The landing was smoother than the take-off, and while the plane was still moving, the cabin door opened, and Rampton entered. “The uniform suits you.”
“It’s a bit snug,” Pete said.
“It’s engineered for extreme weather of every kind,” Rampton said. “If all goes well, it’ll be rolled out worldwide later this year. In different colours, obviously. We’re at a place called Broken Hill. It’s a mining town in New South Wales with an airfield used by the flying doctor service. Do you know much about Australia?”
“Only kangaroos and boomerangs,” Pete said.
“We’re deep in the outback, and your sister is deeper still. She’s working as a ranger a little over three hundred kilometres away, near a hamlet called Tibooburra, close to the border with the next state, Queensland.”
“What’s she doing there?”
“Keeping an eye on the dog fence,” Rampton said. “It’s to keep the dingoes in the north. Have you heard of dingoes? It’s a type of wild dog.”
“Wild dogs? They have wild dogs?”
“Thanks to the fence, not so much in this part of Australia,” Rampton said. He walked over to the coffin-shaped pods behind the seats. He opened one, revealing a trio of rucksacks. He undid a zip, checked inside, re-zipped it and handed it to Pete. “This is yours. There’s a satnav in there. It’s pre-programmed with your sister’s address. The sat-phone is in there, too. Press one and you’ll be connected to Lisa. When you reach your sister, give her the phone, ask her to press one. Clear?”
“I guess so,” Pete said, taking the bag.
“If you break down, press one on the phone,” Rampton continued. “If you get lost, press one. If the cops stop you, press one, and Lisa will take care of it.”
“The cops? You think they might stop me?”
“Maybe for a welfare check, or possibly a chat, considering how isolated this place is.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Pete said. “If the police do stop me, what do I say?”
“The truth, more or less,” Rampton said. “You’re Pete Guinn. Your company was purchased by Lisa Kempton. Your estranged sister used to work for Lisa, and she offered to fly you here so you could re-connect. As to why, you don’t know because you’re a junior employee and she’s a billionaire the officer can speak to by dialling one on the sat-phone. As to what we’re doing here, we’re waiting on a mining executive. Lisa wants to buy the mine.”
“Does she?”
Rampton shrugged. “As far as you need to know, why not?”
“Right. Fair enough. And where’s the car?”
“It’s been hired for you using an app, so you don’t need to speak to anyone. It’s a white Landcruiser, parked out front. The keys are in a lock-box next to the car. The code is zero-zero-zero-zero. The gas tank should be full, but if it’s not, there’s gas stations marked on the satnav. Front pocket of the bag has your new driving licence, company I.D., and company credit card. The PIN is zero-zero-zero-zero. Figured that would be easier for you to remember. There’s cash in there, too. A thousand dollars. Use the card if they’ll accept it. Cash if they don’t. Ask for a receipt. Not because our accountant cares, but so anyone you meet remembers the company, the clothing, and not your face. Understand?”
“Right, of course,” he said. And he did understand, or he was beginning to understand just how much trouble he was in.
“Drop Lisa’s name into conversation,” Rampton went on. “People are far more curious about a billionaire than a junior clock-watcher. There is one thing you will have to lie about. If anyone asks, after Hawaii, we stopped in Cairns. That’s a city in the far north. That’s where we completed all customs checks. But no one will ask. And you shouldn’t need to talk to anyone. The car should have enough fuel to reach your sister. Where did we stop on our way here?”
“Cairns,” Pete said.
“And where are you going?”
“I’m following the satnav.”
“But it’s near Tibooburra. Where is it near?”
“Tibooburra.”
“The code to get the keys to the car i
s?”
“Zero-zero-zero-zero, same as the PIN for the credit card.”
“And your name is?”
“Pete Guinn.”
“You’re ready to go,” Rampton said “Stick to the speed limit, and you should be with your sister in four or five hours. I guess you’ll want to spend the night there, set off tomorrow at dawn, so we’ll see you about this time tomorrow.”
“And what if she doesn’t want to call Lisa Kempton?”
“Make the call yourself,” Rampton said. “Stick it on speaker, and hold the phone close to her ear.”
“And if Corrie isn’t there?”
“She will be,” Rampton said. “You’ve just got to drive and make a phone call. That’s not hard, right?”
Pete nodded. He wasn’t going to get any real answers from the man, so decided to stop asking questions. “Got it,” he said.
There was a knock on the cabin door.
“Perfect timing,” Rampton said. “Those are our stairs. You ready?”
“Sure,” Pete said, as he picked up the bag. He wasn’t ready, but more than anything, he wanted a few minutes to think, somewhere away from Rampton, and away from the cabin’s hidden cameras. There was something wrong, something other than his increasing complicity in a gargantuan financial scandal involving one of the planet’s most prominent multinationals. He almost had what it was when Rampton opened the door.
The heat was a sledgehammer striking his chest.
“Hurry up,” Rampton said. “You’re letting the cool air out. Good luck.” He put a hand on the small of Pete’s back and pushed him into the doorway.
Pete had been expecting heat, but not an oven. The air was blistering, baked by an unforgiving sun, bouncing off the runway, glaring off the white wings of a trio of prop-planes. The handrail burned to the touch as he gingerly began his descent. Behind him, the plane’s door clanged shut, the stairs shook, and he almost lost his footing.
“Steady up there, mate,” a ground-crew attendant at the bottom of the steps said. “You’re Pete Guinn, right? The bloke who’s hiring the doc’s car?”
“Um… yes,” Pete said.
“White building, with the red sign above it and the flag above that. The doc’s waiting for you. No,” he added, grabbing Pete’s shoulders and turning him around. “That way. Get off the runway, and follow the path. Americans, strewth!”
Pete didn’t hear the rest of what the attendant said. Squinting, he made out a building that seemed to be glowing rather than painted white, but it appeared as if there was a flag on top. Getting inside was suddenly more important than anything else.
By the time he reached the building, the plane’s air conditioning was already a distant memory. He pushed the door open, and found himself standing in a pool of fast moving, lusciously cool air.
“That’s one for the medical books,” a voice said. “Heatstroke in two minutes.”
Pete opened his eyes. In front of him was a table doing service as a desk. Behind it sat a man in his sixties, dressed in an immaculate red and blue uniform, holding a small magnifying glass over what looked like a partially dismantled mechanical watch. The man stood. He was at least twice Pete’s age, but with an athletic physique that came from a lifetime earning his pension the hard way.
“Do they pay you to wear that?” the man asked.
Pete looked down at his podgy frame clad in blue and yellow.
“You need to sit down before you collapse,” the man said. “The booking form said you work for the Claverton Group. That’s Lisa Kempton’s mob, isn’t it?” He took Pete’s arm and led him to a pair of battered sofas. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water. They make you wear the uniform even when you’re not on duty? Or are you on company business?”
Pete realised that the old man’s earlier comment hadn’t been rudeness, but genuine curiosity.
“It’s my car you’re hiring,” the man said, as if guessing some further explanation was required. “Mick Dodson. I’m surgeon-emeritus for the flying doctor service, which is a nice way of saying that I’m too important for them to retire. Not that they didn’t try. Here, drink this. Sip, don’t gulp. Where did you fly from?”
“Indiana,” Pete said, taking the proffered glass. “Via… um…” But he’d forgotten the name of the Australian city where they were supposed to have refuelled.
“What was the weather like in Indiana?” Dodson asked.
“Snowing,” Pete said. “It had just begun to snow.”
“And you’ve been in the controlled environment of that jet ever since? No wonder your brain’s confused. That’s all that’s wrong with you. You need a few minutes to acclimatize. I’ve seen this before, though not where it’s developed so quickly. It’ll make for a good yarn. Interesting plane you’ve got. Thought it was a Gulfstream G650, but there are no windows on the cabin. Was it modified for range, or speed?”
“Sorry, I don’t know. I sell carpets,” Pete said.
“Carpets? You’ve come all the way from Indiana to sell carpets?”
“Ah, no. My sister works at a… it’s a fence. Three hundred kilometres away. At a ranger station,” he said, the details slowly coming back. “Near a place called Tiboo-something.”
“Tibooburra? Your sister works near the dingo fence.”
“Yes. Corrie. We’re sort of estranged. I haven’t seen her in six years. But when… well, the plane was coming down here. There’s some mining executive they have to collect, so I thought I’d hitch a ride, come and see her.”
“Is that so?” Dodson said. “You thought you’d visit the outback during a heat wave?”
“I miss her,” he said, opting for the honest truth.
“You paid for the car, so I’m not going to stop you taking it. Where’s your map?”
“Map? I’ve got a satnav,” Pete said.
“And what’ll you do if it breaks? I’ll get you a map. Don’t suppose you have a hat, either? Yep, this is going to be a good yarn, but I bet it’s going to end with me having to rescue you.” Muttering under his breath, the doctor retreated through a small door on the other side of the desk.
Pete leaned back, sipped at the water, and looked around the room. It was halfway between an office and a lounge. The chairs were battered, old or at least third-hand. The table in the centre had a phone and an antique computer, but also a far more modern switchboard with a shortwave radio set. A TV hung on one wall, near a door marked with that universal sign for a bathroom. On the other walls were photographs. Most had a plane in front of which stood a large group of people. And in most of those, Doctor Dodson was present. In the older, more faded photographs, he was off to the side. In the more recent pictures, he was centre-stage. Pride of place went to a picture larger than any of the others, and with a wide gap around it. There was no plane, but a stretch of road with a sign above it reading “Welcome to Broken Hill, Where The Outback Begins”. Beneath the sign, in the middle of the road, stood Doctor Dodson and a woman half his age. Both were smiling. He proudly, she resignedly. He was holding something. Pete stood to get a better view.
“Got you a map,” Doctor Dodson said.
Pete turned around.
“That’s my daughter, Anna,” Doctor Dodson said. “We took that picture just before she went to Canberra. She’s our MP. In the government. In the cabinet.” He cleared his throat. “But here’s your map. You want to take the Silver City Highway north to Tibooburra, but you’re going to stop at the Packsaddle Roadhouse and fill up the tank. That’s two hundred kilometres north of here. You should reach there in three hours. I’ve called Marty, and he’s expecting you. From there, you head up to Tibooburra where you make a right turn. Here, on the map. This road. It’s more a track than anything. You’ll find your sister about forty kilometres along. And you should be there about six hours from now. Give or take. Do you have a phone?”
“A sat-phone, yes,” he said.
“Triple-zero gets you through to emergency dispatch. You won’t break down because I ta
ke good care of my car. But if you do, remember rule five: stay with your vehicle. Marty’ll come collect you.”
“Rule five? What are the other rules?”
“If you obey rule five, you don’t need to know,” he said.
“Right, thanks.”
“It’s my car I’m worried about,” he said. “It was my daughter’s idea. Said there was no point having a car sitting idle seeing as I fly most places. Hire it out, she said. Top up the pension fund, she said. You’re the first bloke who’s hired her. First and last, I think. But you paid in advance, so a deal’s a deal. I’ve written our number on the map. Call me when you get to your sister’s. Don’t break the speed limit. Keep your eyes on the road. Watch out for kangaroos.”
“Right. Of course,” he said. Assuming that was a joke, he smiled.
“You hit a ’roo, you’re paying for the repairs,” the doctor said. He took off his hat. “Here. You’ll want this. And these.” He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. “Your company’s picking up the bill, right?”
“Um, yes.”
“Then I’m going to charge you extra for the hat and sunnies. Lisa Kempton’s not aboard, is she?”
“No, sorry. It’s just me and the pilots.”
“Shame. I’d like to have told my daughter I met Lisa Kempton before she did. The keys. It’s the white Toyota beneath the awning. The air conditioning is on, so it’s ready to go. I stuck some water into an esky, and that’s on the back seat. Marty will set you up with some tucker when you stop. How are you feeling?”
“Better. Fine.”
“Then you better go before I change my mind. Door behind the desk, down the corridor, and you’ll be out front. Go on. And we drive on the left! The left!”
