This time the dog sprang to his feet. His volley of yelps was urgent, and full of alarm; he padded forward, his eyes apparently fixed on a distant spot in the darkness. Peter could only see the back of him – a tail and hindquarters in the flickering firelight – but noticed even from a distance that his hackles had risen.
Del rose too.
‘Get in the car,’ she said. ‘Linda? Get in the car. Who’s there? Hey! Who is it?’
Cowering in his seat, Peter was astonished at Del’s bravery. She actually advanced, raising her gun until the butt was nestled against her armpit, dropping her head until she was squinting into the telescopic sight. Mongrel’s whole body shook with every bark.
‘Get me a torch!’ Del snapped. ‘Col! Get me a torch!’
‘You’re not going out there?’ Linda squeaked. By this time she was in the car, though Noel was still hovering outside, as if he wanted to be useful. Peter wished he would jump in and shut the door.
‘Dad!’ cried Louise. ‘Come on!’
Col was scrabbling around in the pile of rags and pots and plastic near the fire. From the tangled folds of a sweatshirt he produced Del’s big orange torch, which he immediately turned on. The beam wasn’t too bright, not even after he’d shaken it. ‘Batteries must be low,’ Noel muttered.
‘Noel! Will you get in?’ Linda cried, but instead Noel called to Del.
‘Del! The keys!’ he exclaimed.
‘Alec. Car keys,’ said Del, without moving a muscle. ‘They’re in me pocket.’
Peter realised what his father was trying to do. If anything happened, and Noel had the keys, he would be able to drive them away – at least for as long as the petrol held out. Both Alec and Col were now beside Del, Col standing with the torch, Alec on one knee, fumbling in the pocket of Del’s baggy old pants.
He withdrew a jangling set of keys and tossed it at Noel, climbing to his feet as he did so. The keys flashed in the firelight.
Noel caught them.
‘Okay,’ he said, sliding into the driver’s seat. His door slammed. It was very dark inside the car; Peter could see only the glitter of a moist eye here, the sheen of a greasy nose there. He could feel Louise shaking beside him. He could hear his family breathing. He could smell body odour.
Outside, in the circle of firelight, everything was clearly visible: Mongrel’s quivering tail, the sweat patches on Alec’s T-shirt, the dust on the seat of Del’s pants.
‘Whoever you are,’ she yelled, ‘you’d better come out here with your hands up!’
‘Oh my God,’ Linda whispered, covering her ears.
‘I’ll count to three! ’ The barrel of Del’s gun moved, sweeping slowly across her field of fire. ‘One!’
Col cast her a worried look. His hands must have been shaking, because the beam of the orange torch bounced up and down.
‘Two!’
They all heard it now: a distant snap, which caused Mongrel to yap frenetically, his front paws pushing him off the ground. Then he surged forward.
‘Three!’
The barrel of the Lee Enfield swung towards the sky, and there was a sharp, deafening retort. The Fergusons jumped. They screamed. Alec cried: ‘You’re wastin the fuckin ammo!’
‘Warnin shot.’
‘Fuck that! We can’t spare it!’
‘Watch the dog!’ Col exclaimed. Mongrel was leaping away from them on stiffened legs, churning up dust, barking like a machine.
‘Mongrel!’ Del bawled. ‘Heel! Mongrel!’
Mongrel ignored her. The dog was skipping sideways, as if plotting the passage of something that was on the move. Peter couldn’t hear any footsteps or rustling, because the barking was so loud. Besides, he was too far away from the action, shut up as he was in Del’s car, behind closed windows. But whatever was out there, among the trees, it had to be coming closer. You could tell that, just from the timbre of Mongrel’s yelps. The distance between the dog and his master was widening.
‘Shit,’ Noel breathed.
Click, click. Instinctively, Peter knew what that sound was. Though he hadn’t been looking at Del (his attention had been focused on Mongrel) he knew that he had just heard her reload. She was striding forward, taking aim.
‘Bring the torch,’ she instructed.
‘Eh?’ Col stared at her, blankly.
‘Alec, stay here. Keep an eye out.’
‘What?’
‘Mongrel! Gittim!’
‘Del, fuck it, are you crazy?’ Alec protested. Noel groaned ‘Oh no’ as Mongrel bounded off into the night, still barking.
‘I can get ’im!’ Del insisted. ‘It’s some bloke out there!’
‘Del –’
‘It’s all right! Mongrel’s got ’im nailed, listen!’
‘Del!’
But with a firm ‘Torch, Col!’ she marched off, forcing Col to pursue her. Peter realised that he was whimpering, and swallowed to make himself stop. Mongrel’s noisy warnings were still audible; the beam of Del’s torch was retreating from the campsite, wavering and flashing as it raked the bush for footprints, scuff marks, broken branches – even the flash of a buckle or the gleam of an eye. Col himself was no longer visible.
‘She’s mad! Mad!’ Noel said brokenly.
‘Shhh!’ Linda was straining to hear. Alec had backed up, step by step, until he was level with the camp-stove. Peter saw him stoop and pick up Del’s hatchet, wrenching his gaze from Mongrel’s location. (The dog’s ear-splitting yelps helped everyone to pinpoint that with some accuracy.)
‘Turn on the headlights!’ Linda screeched, and Noel obeyed. A cluster of tree-trunks leapt out of the darkness, each shred of bark and hard-edged leaf clearly illuminated against the murk beyond. But it didn’t help much. Del’s car was facing in the wrong direction.
‘Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!’ It was Louise speaking, not Rosie. Alec banged on Louise’s window, causing her to jump.
‘Let me in!’ His voice was muffled by glass. ‘Let me in!’
‘But –’
‘MOVE OVER!’
Then they heard the other noise – a crashing thud, some distance away from the bobbing light and barking dog.
Col heard the noise too. It frightened him so much that he nearly dropped the torch; spotlit sand and foliage danced crazily as he caught the damn thing before it hit the ground.
‘What the hell . . .?’
‘I dunno.’ Col trained his pale beam (which was steadier now, though not rock-steady) at a patch of swaying hopbush. He picked out Mongrel’s tail thrashing about.
‘No,’ Del rasped. ‘It was further up. Towards the creek.’
‘Wait,’ said Col. Mongrel was making curious noises, snuffling and whining, sniffing around the roots of a tree. He raised his head, yapped sharply, and started nosing about again. ‘That dog’s found something.’
‘Where?’
‘There.’ Col pointed his wavering beam at Mongrel, who seemed antsy and disturbed. ‘It’s not very big . . .’
‘Take a look,’ said Del. ‘I’ll watch your back.’
Col hesitated.
‘Go on! I’ll keep an eye out!’
But Col’s main concern was Del and her gun. He didn’t altogether trust Del, and he didn’t want to walk ahead of her, in case she got jumpy and started firing at shadows. (His shadow, to be precise.) In his opinion, there were a lot of people in the world who shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a gun, and Del was one of them.
In circumstances like this, she was doubly dangerous.
‘Just turn that thing away from me!’ he insisted.
‘I know what I’m doin, Col!’
‘Yeah, but I don’t! So do me a favour, all right?’
Then, having satisfied himself that the .303 wasn’t aimed anywhere near him, Col advanced cautiously towards Mongrel, who really was a mongrel, in Col’s opinion: part kelpie, part setter, part something else. One of those sloppy, wild-eyed dogs that Col didn’t trust any more than he trusted Del. One of those mangy, offal-fed, bad
-smelling . . .
‘Aaah!’
In the torchlight, every detail sprang out at him with cruel clarity. He swung away almost at once, but it was too late; in less than two seconds the terrible image had become branded in his mind’s eye. The streaks and gobs of black blood. The bits of dirt and dry grass adhering to it. The gleam of a mottled eyeball. The slack purple lips. The bulging blue tongue.
‘Aaah! Aaah!’ He didn’t know if he was screaming or retching. He had dropped the torch.
‘What is it? What happened?’ Del cried.
Col couldn’t answer. He could hardly breathe. Tears blinded him, and his stomach rebelled. He had to swallow repeatedly to stop himself from vomiting.
‘Is it a snake? Did it bite you? Col? Where does it – oh my CHRIST!’
She must have seen it, Col thought. The fallen torch must be shining right on it.
‘Oh God. Oh God.’ Del sounded just like a little girl. Her voice was high and frightened, and it cracked on a sob. ‘Oh God in heaven preserve us!’
She collapsed against the tree, her rifle slack in her arms. Col could see her out of the corner of his eye. But he wasn’t about to turn around. Not yet.
‘All right,’ Del gasped. ‘All right. Now – now we gotta – we gotta –’
‘It’s her,’ Col squawked. There had been a silver thing in its nose; he had seen it glint. ‘It’s that girl.’
‘Wha – ?’
‘The – the Martian.’ His mind was a blank. What had her name been? ‘The one I picked up. It’s her.’
‘No . . .’
‘There’s a bloody thing in her nose!’
Col bit down on his trembling bottom lip. He blinked back his tears and wiped his mouth. He didn’t know what Del was doing; he could hear her moving, but still didn’t want to turn around.
‘It is,’ she croaked suddenly. ‘Christ Jesus. It’s her head. Someone threw it.’
‘What – what are we going to do?’
‘I didn’t recognise –’
‘What are we going to do, dammit?’
‘I – I dunno.’ A pause. ‘Where’s Mongrel?’
Col blinked. He looked at her. He looked at the torch – at the tree – at the tangle of swelling roots. His gaze skirted the round, dark blot in its nest of grass.
He couldn’t see any dog.
‘Mongrel!’ Del’s summons was shrill. Anxious. ‘Mongrel! Cummeer!’
‘Where’d he go?’
‘MONGREL!’
‘Shh! Listen!’
They fell silent. Col could hear only the sound of Del’s harsh breathing, and the thud-thud-thud of his own heart.
As he stooped to pick up the torch, Del hoisted her gun back into position.
‘Mongrel!’ she cried.
‘We’ve got to get back.’
‘And leave my dog?’
‘We’ve got to get back, Del!’
‘Just shine that thing around, will you?’
‘No.’ Col was frantic. Someone had killed the girl. Someone had chopped off her bloody head, and Del was worried about her bloody dog? ‘You’re crazy, come back here!’
‘Gimme the torch.’
‘No!’
‘Gimme the torch!’
Col was willing to fight for it. He would have, if they hadn’t both, at that instant, heard a swishing noise.
They froze.
‘Mongrel?’ Del squeaked.
Col swung the beam of his torch from side to side. Del stepped forward.
‘Del –’
‘Shh!’
She took another step, and another. Col was unable to move. His spotlight did, though, sliding up a tree trunk, across a bough, dropping again to a stunted, feathery mulga. The smooth, graceful limbs of the eucalypts – starkly white against a black backdrop – seemed to reach for him like pale arms. They were reaching! They had elbows – fingers -
Col opened his mouth to scream. To warn Del. But she had drawn level with the wide base of an old red gum, and something leapt out from behind it, striking her, jolting her.
Mongrel.
In the split second it took Col to realise that the dog had been thrown – that it was limp and lifeless and spilling blood – Del was tricked into holding her fire. She hesitated, just for an instant, and by the time she understood, it was too late.
The man had jumped her.
He knocked her sideways and seized her gun. She shrieked. Col started forward, but the man had kicked Del sharply, and wrenched the rifle from her hands. She fell to her knees, launched herself at him. He swung the butt at her head. Crack!
Col realised his mistake. He was almost upon them, but suddenly he was looking down a barrel.
He turned.
The man fired.
CHAPTER 19
Alec was halfway out of the car when the first shot sounded. .
They had all heard the voices, even from behind closed windows. There was a sort of rough cry, followed by a pause, followed by a shriek. In the distance, a faint circle of light had veered wildly into the treetops, vanished, and appeared again.
Alec had moved instinctively, before even stopping to consider his options.
‘Wait!’ Noel exclaimed. ‘Hang on! Don’t –’
Crack! The shot. Alec stopped dead, every muscle rigid with fright. His heart seemed to shrink in his chest.
‘Oh my God!’ Linda cried. ‘Oh my God!’
Alec didn’t know what to do. Had Del fired that shot? Had it even issued from Del’s gun? It had sounded like her gun, but Alec was no expert.
Then the second shot rang out.
‘What’s happening?’ Linda whimpered. ‘Noel? Can you see?’
‘I – I can’t –’
‘Can you see? Alec?’
It was a ridiculous thing to ask. What did she think he had, heat-sensitive vision? He could see no more than she could – and that was little enough: one patch of bush clearly illuminated by the headlights, together with a larger, indistinct portion appearing and disappearing in the flickering glow of the fire, which caused the shadows to leap and fall back in a disconcerting manner.
When the sound of a third shot split the air, Alec made his decision.
‘Del?’ he shouted. ‘D-E-L-L-L!’
No reply.
Noel wound down his window. ‘Del!’ he bawled. ‘Col!’
Still no reply. That wasn’t good. Alec got back in the car behind Noel, slamming the door shut. He was still cradling his hatchet.
‘What are we going to do?’ Linda whispered.
‘Wait,’ said Noel hoarsely.
‘Have you got –’
‘I’ve got the keys. They’re in the ignition.’
‘Should we turn off the headlights? What about the batteries? What if they run down?’
Noel hesitated. Behind him, Alec was thinking. Four shots fired – that meant there were two bullets left.
If it was Del’s gun being used.
‘Alec?’ said Noel. ‘Should we try to save the batteries? Suppose they run down, and we can’t start the car . . .?’
‘Yeah,’ Alec replied. ‘Yeah, turn ’em off.’ But when the hard, bright glare was extinguished, and the darkness seemed to flow towards them, Alec began to have second thoughts. How were they going to protect themselves if they couldn’t see what was coming?
‘The torch,’ said Noel. ‘Can anyone spot the torch?’
It should have been visible, because the firelight was so dim and red by the time it reached the outer circle of trees. Alec, however, could discern no weaving white dot amidst the silent stands of eucalypts.
‘Why would they turn off the torch?’ he asked uneasily.
‘Could they be out of range?’ Linda suggested. ‘Maybe they can’t hear us, and we can’t see them . . .’
‘Shh!’ Alec had wound down his window a fraction. ‘Keep quiet!’
‘I can hear something,’ Peter suddenly quavered. ‘Can you hear something?’
It was a soft whistle, w
hich grew louder as they listened. A breathy, moaning, hollow whistle. A whistle that ebbed and surged, but never quite stopped.
‘It’s the wind,’ Noel declared.
‘But Dad . . .’ This time, Alec could hear the suppressed sobs in Peter’s whimper. ‘Dad, the branches aren’t moving! Nothing’s moving!’
Alec swallowed. The kid was right. Every ruddy-coloured leaf hung still from a motionless twig. Every blade of grass throwing a spear-like shadow against the earth stood as stiff as a guardsman.
Yet still the whistle continued, rising in volume and urgency, like the sound of a 70 km gust pushing its way through a keyhole.
Beside Alec, Louise was curled up in a ball. He could feel her trembling. He himself was sweating, though the temperature had dropped since nightfall.
‘It’s happening,’ he panted. ‘It’s happening again.’ He pressed his nose to the glass, but could see almost nothing, because his side of the car was facing away from the fire. Something drifted overhead, but – no, it was smoke. It dissipated quickly.
He leaned forward, peering over Noel’s shoulder, through the windscreen. The windscreen was so filthy, however – so covered with dust and squashed flies – that the shapes beyond it were indistinct; he could vaguely make out tree-trunks, bushes, stones, all of them utterly immobile.
The shrill, droning whistle was now hurting his ears.
‘What’s happening?’ Linda cried. ‘What is it?’
Alec knew. It was a warning. Like the road kill, like the swarm of flies, this noise was a signal. He knew it in his gut, the gut that had never failed him, no matter how much he’d tried to ignore it.
And his gut was telling him to move.
‘Get out!’ he barked, slapping the back of Noel’s seat. Noel’s response was so fast that he must have been acting on the same impulse; the old Ford sputtered to life instantly, its engine roaring.
Then three things happened, in the blink of an eye.
There was a flash – a great flash – silent and all-encompassing. It had the intensity, the brilliance, the blue-white clarity of sheet lightning, except that there was no thunder or rain to accompany it.
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