by Dean Mayes
“Get in,” Hayden ordered through the open window.
Isabelle threw open the door and shuffled across so Max could fit. Before he’d closed the door behind him, Hayden gunned the accelerator and took off towards the centre of town.
Bernadette watched in dismay as the Holden drove away.
HAYDEN PUNCHED THE HORN, WARNING people to clear the street as they rounded the bend, passing the fire station.
Max continued to talk to Annette. “Have you been able to raise Gregor?”
“He’s on his way in from Rawson now. He’s asked us to assemble a party.”
As they approached the general store, Max pointed. “Let me out here. I’ll gather together as many people as I can.”
Hayden pulled to a stop and Max handed his radio to Isabelle. As he got out of the truck, Isabelle shuffled across and pulled the door closed. Max reached in and touched her cheek.
“Belle, I’m so sorry.”
Isabelle regarded him, but couldn’t find her voice.
Hayden shifted the transmission and accelerated away.
Oblivious to the speed limit, he sounded the horn again to clear the road ahead, drawing the ire of pedestrians. As they passed by the bakery and rounded the bend adjacent to the Lodge Hotel, Belle saw the line of vehicles parked in front. Her eyes locked onto Chas Kraetzer’s four-wheel drive.
Her hand shot out and clamped around Hayden’s arm.
The Holden screeched to an abrupt stop behind Chas’s muddy Toyota. Isabelle burst from the cabin and sidestepped between Kraetzer’s truck and an adjacent vehicle.
She scanned the garden and spied Chas, leaning against an outdoor table, beer in hand and laughing at some joke one of his unruly counterparts had just delivered.
She strode towards the Frenchman. One of his companions glanced at Isabelle with bemusement, then shock, as she slapped a hand on Chas’s shoulder and spun him around like a top. Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt collar in both hands, she yanked him towards her. Chas pitched his half-empty glass into the air, showering his companions with beer.
“Where is he!?”
Chas sucked in air like a goldfish out of water. “Wha-what are you talking about?”
Releasing his shirt, Isabelle balled her hand into a fist, while her free hand slipped from his collar to his neck. Her fingers tightened as she prepared to throttle him, while his friends chuckled behind their beer glasses, thinking it was all a huge joke.
“Don’t bullshit me, Charlie,” she warned. “I know you’ve been in contact with him. Tell me where Mitch is right now!”
She drew her fist back.
Hayden had jumped the picket fence as a small audience gathered around them. Stopping a few feet away, he watched on, unsure of whether to intervene.
Flailing in her grip, the colour fast draining from his face, Chas raised his hands and shook his head. “I-I dunno. I haven’t talked to him.”
Isabelle cocked her head. Her fist shot forward, striking him so hard his head snapped back. Crying out in pain, Chas raised his arms to protect his face, while several onlookers gasped.
Tightening her grip, Isabelle yanked him in close until their faces were nearly touching.
“Has he got Genie?” Her voice teetered between grief and rage. “Has he taken her?”
Hayden glanced sideways as Ivan Rumph appeared from inside the pub and paused at the top of the steps. “Belle!” he thundered, causing patrons around him to jump. “What the hell?”
As Isabelle jerked her head around towards Ivan, she noticed the horrified faces of the hotel patrons. There were couples, families. She faltered and her grip on Chas slackened.
“Genie’s missing.” Her voice shook. “Mitch has taken her. Mitch was here and Charlie knows it. Because you’ve been in contact with him—haven’t you?”
“Is this true, Chas?” Ivan barked.
Chas shook his head. “I-I—” he stammered through clenched teeth.
Isabelle’s anger surged. She knew Charlie Kraetzer wasn’t to be trusted. Since Mitch had gone to prison, Charlie had been kind to her and Genevieve. Drunk, boorish, but still kind. She’d figured Mitch’s years in prison had caused them to drift apart.
Isabelle pushed him back against the table. Too drunk and surprised to react, he slipped on the beer-soaked timber and crashed to the deck, upending the table and glassware. As his companions groaned at their devastated beverages, Isabelle turned on her heel and strode past Hayden.
The sound of a siren echoed from further down the road, rising in volume until Gregor’s police car came into view, racing past the pub. Heads turned to watch it pass until it disappeared around the bend, its siren wailing away into the distance. Several locals exchanged grim looks and stepped away from nearby tables, making for their own vehicles.
Ivan lurched down the steps and dragged Chas to his feet. He kept his attention on Chas. “You better not be mucking around, Charlie,” he rumbled. “If you know anything, I suggest you speak up. Now.”
Chas licked his lips and his focus shifted from Ivan to Isabelle, who had stopped beside the Holden. Her hand gripped the door handle.
Chas Kraetzer’s head dropped and he began to shake. He nodded his head jerkily. “He was here. Today. But I didn’t talk to him. I kept out of his way. He’s been here before, too.”
Ivan shook his arm. “Where is he now, Charlie?”
Chas shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he’d be thinking. But…but he’s been renting my maman’s house in Erica.”
Hayden began backing away while Isabelle opened the door to the Holden.
“He won’t get far,” Ivan speculated. “The Walhalla Road is the only way out.”
Bitter pride flashed across Chas’s face as he proclaimed, “Come on, Ivan. Some of us know there are lots of ways to get in and out of these mountains.”
Hayden had heard enough. He rounded the Holden as Isabelle climbed in. He started the engine and jerked the transmission lever up in an unbroken sequence. The engine whined in protest. Its tyres squealed on the bitumen as it raced away.
~ Chapter 25 ~
ANNETTE BALLED HER HANDS TO STOP THEM FROM SHAKING. SHE WAS LEANING AGAINST THE DOOR FRAME, LOOKING out from the kitchen into the dining area of the restaurant.
Men and women from around Walhalla had heeded her radio call, dropped everything, and now occupied every available space in the dining room as they listened to a briefing from Gregor Aldersea.
Annette tried to compose herself as she walked into the dining area and stood against the wall.
Gregor’s expression was grim. “What we are looking for, thanks to Andrew Parton’s keen observation, is a 1988 model Toyota tray top, single-cabin four-wheel drive, owned by Mitchell Crowley.” He took in each of their faces as he spoke. He noted, in particular, Chas Kraetzer. “Now, for some of you here, I don’t need to remind you just how dangerous Mitch Crowley is. He was recently released from prison and is the subject of a strict control order. It would appear he has breached that control order and has kidnapped Belle Sampi’s daughter, Genevieve.”
Turning to Max, who held up a map of the Walhalla and Mountain Rivers Area, Gregor traced a finger along a winding line traversing the map from east to west.
“Now, it makes sense for Crowley to try and make for Erica. I’ve got eyes on a residence there now and I’ve got a vehicle stationed at the Walhalla Road turnoff. While this will be his most likely route, there are three or four other mountain tracks he might take advantage of.” Gregor fingered each of those possible tracks in turn and faced the assemblage.
“I want to be clear. If you come across him, radio it in immediately. Do not underestimate him under any circumstances. Those of you carrying rifles, I will tolerate reasonable self-defence measures only. Remember, he has a child with him.”
Gregor allowed his words to hang in the air.
“Okay. Move out. Radio check with Annette here as soon as you’re mobile. We’ve got tourists driving around out there w
ho are unfamiliar with the bends and sweeps of the Walhalla Road. I don’t want any accidents.”
The group began to disperse and Gregor rested a hand on Annette’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Her lip trembled and she bit down to stop it as tears formed. “We were watching her. Sh-she was out of our sight for less than a moment. I can’t understand how he could have swooped in so quickly.”
Gregor met her gaze. “If Chas Kraetzer is right and Crowley had been planning this, he would have acted fast. You couldn’t have known.”
Annette tried to compose herself. “I better work the radio. See where Hayden and Belle are.”
Max rolled up the map and handed it to her. He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll go with Gregor, love. Let us know when you’ve raised Hayden.”
She ushered the two men to the exit. “Be careful.”
Outside, Max was greeted by a cacophony of engines rumbling to life. Over the dozen or so vehicles, he spied Ivan, who had arrived in his own tray top and exchanged a grim wave. Climbing in, he watched Gregor cycle up the red and blue lights and signal to the others to fall in behind him. Max secured his seatbelt as the convoy turned out onto the road.
“HAYDEN? ISABELLE? DO YOU COPY?”
Annette seated herself, mic in hand, and listened for several moments before Hayden’s voice chimed through the static.
“We’re here, Annette. We’ve crossed the Thompson River and are heading up towards the Cooper Creek turnoff.”
Adjusting her glasses, Annette checked the map, noting the prominent horseshoe-shaped bend in the road to the immediate west of the Thompson River. “Okay. Gregor, Max, and the others have just left Walhalla. They should catch up to you shortly. Gregor has a man stationed at the end of Walhalla Road.”
“Okay,” Hayden responded.
In the static that followed, Annette thumbed the mic button, wanting to speak but struggling to find words. She held the mic against her forehead. “Belle,” she began. “I don’t know what—”
She couldn’t finish her sentence. There was a long issue of static from the radio and Annette felt her heart sink. Hayden’s voice sounded. “It’ll be okay, Annette. Just stay by the radio.”
Annette set the mic down on the desk. She sighed and took off her glasses.
Movement on the computer screen caught her attention and she glanced at it. One of the web browser tabs had refreshed itself. Curious, Annette opened it. It was a web-mail page, but not one she recognised. Scanning the screen, Annette saw an orange icon followed by the words “Internode Webmail.” Below that, she saw Hayden’s name.
It was Hayden’s account.
Annette’s brow furrowed as she remembered. They’d offered Hayden the use of their computer so he could keep a check on his emails from Adelaide. He must have forgotten to sign off.
Noting a log-out button at the top of the screen, Annette prepared to do just that, when she spotted the inbox. Among the emails, most of which appeared to be from Hayden’s hospital, Annette noticed several from “Bernadette Magnion” with the subject line, “Please Contact Me!”
So, she kept her maiden name, Annette thought sourly.
She felt an immediate stab of guilt. It did appear as though Berni had attempted to reach out to Hayden, albeit somewhat desperately.
At the top of the list, a message with a different sender caught her eye and she leaned in to study it.
From: Amanda Rischmiller
Subject: Urgent—Re: Bernadette!
The hairs on the back of Annette’s neck rose.
Her finger hovered over the track pad as she considered the message.
Don’t do it, Annette.
The on-screen arrow hovered over the message, highlighting it with a blue band, and Annette tapped the track pad. The message opened in a new pane.
Annette gasped as she read. “Oh my God!”
THE HOLDEN POWERED UP THE mountain road beyond the Thompson River bridge, gathering speed as Hayden pushed the old utility hard.
Isabelle gripped her seatbelt and stared out her window. She was struggling to stay calm as fear roiled inside her. Beyond the sliver of bitumen, through the boughs of the trees lining the road, she took in the vast drop to the river far below. It would take just one error of judgement, one over-correction on this precarious road, and they would be gone in an instant.
Hayden stole a quick glance at her. Sensing her turmoil, he gripped the steering wheel harder, but didn’t retreat from the accelerator. He wanted to say something, anything.
He forced himself to shelve his despair and return his focus to Genevieve. She was all that mattered right now. Everything else was a distant second.
A sharp hook in the road loomed and it rushed up to meet them quicker than Hayden anticipated.
Isabelle gasped as he jammed his foot on the brake. The Holden’s wheels screeched and the rear of the utility shuddered and swung towards the edge of the cliff. Isabelle grabbed the door and her body went rigid.
Feeling the Holden slide into the bend, Hayden spun the wheel hard. At the very last moment, he stamped his foot on the accelerator and shoved the gear lever, fearing he would tear it from the steering column. The Holden leapt forward.
“Hayden!”
Isabelle’s cry obliterated the noise of the engine. A lone figure stood in the middle of the road, waving his arms frantically.
Shoving both feet on the brake pedal, he and Isabelle jerked forward, then were flung back hard.
Through his addled consciousness, Hayden became aware of a figure—no, two—moving towards them outside. His first instinct was defence, until he registered they didn’t pose a threat.
They were hikers.
A middle-aged man with a thick moustache and wearing expensive hiking gear approached. He bent down to Hayden’s window.
“I-I’m sorry,” Hayden croaked, as he wound down the glass.
“Our friend!” the hiker exclaimed. “Sh-she was hit by a truck!”
“What?” Hayden thrust open the door.
“It came out of nowhere,” the hiker explained. “A four-wheel drive. It didn’t even stop.”
“Name?” Hayden snapped.
The man looked back at him blankly and Hayden glared at him. “Your name?”
“Steve. My name is Steve.”
The hiker led him towards the edge of the bush. Hayden noted several people, all dressed in hiking gear and carrying backpacks. Around the fronds of a mountain fern, a wide track cut its way into the hillside, where it disappeared around a bend.
Isabelle climbed out and followed close behind.
Off to the side of the track, accompanied by two more hikers, lay a young woman. Panting and in clear distress, her clothes were muddy and torn. Her pale face was dirty. A nasty cut across her forehead dripped blood. One of her companions tended to her injuries with supplies from a first aid kit.
Dropping to his knees, Hayden’s clinical sensibilities went to work, taking in what he saw and making mental calculations. The woman blinked as she teetered on the edge of shock.
Hayden offered her an empathetic smile. “What’s your name?”
“K-Karen,” she managed.
“Karen, my name is Hayden. I’m going to examine you. Is that okay?”
“Y-yes—my leg.”
Beside him, Steve and the others watched as Hayden focused his attention on Karen’s leg. Through the dark material of her trousers, he saw an even darker patch of blood billowing from just below her knee.
“I need a knife.” Karen’s companions blinked and looked at each other. None of them moved. Hayden wheeled around.
“Knife! Now!”
A small folding blade was thrust at him, and he snatched it and prized the blade out. He set to work on the material of the woman’s trousers, cutting them up the centre and revealing her lower leg.
Her companions gasped. One of them whipped a hand to her mouth.
Bone had punctured the skin and protruded at an angle, its splintered e
nd coated in blood and muck. The surrounding wound appeared angry and painful.
“Compound fracture of the fibula,” Hayden murmured. “Soiled wound. High potential for infection.”
“Are you a doctor?” Steve asked.
Hayden hesitated before answering, “Yes.” Looking up, he followed the visible length of the track as it snaked up the hillside. “You came from there?”
Steve crouched beside him. “Yes. We were walking in from Rawson. We were headed to the Thompson River when this…idiot came out of nowhere.”
Hayden looked to Isabelle, who hovered nearby. Her expression was tortured.
Rotating on his haunches, he gestured with a nod towards the first aid kit. “You have a good kit there.”
“Yes. We’re well-equipped.”
“Okay,” Hayden began. “The vehicle you encountered—there is a very dangerous man at the wheel and he has a hostage. A child.”
Steve regarded his companions, collective concern rippling through them. Hayden pointed with an outstretched finger. “There is a party of vehicles following behind us. We’re going to radio them and get you help. They will take care of you.”
Isabelle turned and strode towards the Holden, grabbing the UHF handset from inside.
Hayden brought his hands down, holding them over Karen’s ruined limb for emphasis. “You must clean this wound the best you can. Fashion a ring from the bandages in your pack and surround the wound with them. Then cover it.” He refocused on Karen. “Help is coming. You will be okay.”
Isabelle keyed the transmit button. “Annette. This is Isabelle. Come in.”
“Go ahead, Belle.”
“We’ve encountered a group of hikers near the Cooper Creek turn-off. One of them is injured. She was hit by a truck—likely Mitch’s.”
As she let go of the transmit button, there was a burst of static. Gregor’s voice sounded. “Belle! Can you repeat? Did you say someone’s been hit?”
“Yeah,” Isabelle responded. “They’re just off the main road on the northern side. There’s a fire track on the bend. I don’t know what it’s called.”
Isabelle searched around for a road sign, but could only find signs for the Cooper Creek Road opposite.
