by Dean Mayes
Another burst of static.
“That’s Depot Road,” Gregor came back. “He’s on Depot Road.”
Isabelle’s eyes went to Hayden’s. “The walker is in a bad way, Gregor. She needs medical attention.”
“Stay with her. We’re approaching the river now. We’re almost there.”
The injured woman was weeping, and her companion was holding her hand. Hayden grimaced. He hated this.
To his surprise, Karen cleared her throat. “Go. You have to go. You have to stop him.”
Hayden glanced at Steve. “You’ve got this? I promise you help is coming.”
Steve nodded. “Go,” he said. “Go now.”
Hayden rose and marched towards the truck, swinging into the cabin as Isabelle followed him. “Are you going to be able to get this up onto the track?” Isabelle asked.
He turned the key and gunned the engine. “Watch.”
Reaching down to a level on the floor between them, he shoved it forward. As Isabelle strapped herself in, she felt the cabin rise underneath her as a set of compressors raised the chassis of the Holden up on its axles.
“Four-wheel drive conversion,” Hayden remarked as the Holden rolled forward and climbed the steep incline to the track.
Hayden leaned through the window as he passed Steve and his companions, giving them a reassuring nod. “Hang on,” he reassured them. “Help is coming.”
Steve waved them on as Hayden made his way up the mountain track.
MITCH’S FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE POWERED DEEP into the mountains, bouncing over the uneven and muddy track. Its rear end slipped and slid as he poured on frequent bursts of speed.
Genevieve huddled as far into the corner of the cabin as she could, trying to put space between her and her father.
His mood had changed dramatically. He’d told her they were going to drive to the bakery, that he would like to see her mother after such a long time, but instead he’d passed by home and had sped up as they approached the end of Walhalla.
Though he’d reassured her in his broken sign language that everything was going to be okay, that her mother was going to meet them over at Erica, Genevieve was growing more fearful by the moment. He’d tried to explain he and her mother had been talking, about allowing Genevieve to spend more time with him now he was back from wherever it was he had been, but Genevieve found his explanation difficult to understand.
Then the accident happened. With the hikers.
Any pretence of the smiling, gentle man Genevieve had encountered at the park was gone, and in its place was someone terribly frightening. She’d tried to ask why they didn’t stop to help. She’d tried to ask where they were going now, but he didn’t respond. When she’d pressed him, he’d reacted violently, baring his teeth and glaring at her. When she began to cry, it only made things worse.
Genevieve was scared and she didn’t know what to do. She held onto Lily as tightly as she could.
Mitch could feel potent fury boiling just underneath the surface. He’d thought this would be simple. The kid was young enough, he’d thought, that she would be happy he was there, telling her who he was and talking about all the fun things they’d do together as a family. After all, he was her father.
Seven-year-olds believed anything. Didn’t they?
Apparently not. She had become suspicious and her constant questioning was getting on his nerves. He couldn’t refer to the Auslan book he’d brought with him while he was driving, so communication was haphazard at best. And now, because of her crying and nagging, he’d run into those stupid, fucking hikers.
No doubt they would tell somebody. He just didn’t know how soon. His initial plan to make for Erica to grab his things would have to be abandoned. Even if it took the hikers time to alert someone, he couldn’t risk the possibility of the house being compromised. He knew this track came out above Erica at the adjacent town of Rawson. His hope now was to make for the Thompson Valley Road and disappear into the mountains. Once he was deep into the High Country, it would be next to impossible to track him.
The thought of escape brought faint hope to him, and for a fleeting moment, the anger within him subsided. He stole a glance at the child, huddled in the corner of the cabin. Tears streamed down her face.
Clenching his jaw, Mitch slammed the steering wheel with his fist.
“WHY ARE YOU CRYING?” he screamed.
Genevieve flinched as Mitch shoved the gear lever forward and pressed the pedal to the floor. The truck lurched so violently that Genevieve’s body was jostled in her seat and she hit her head hard against the door panel. The impact caused her to yelp out loud.
Mitch jerked in his seat, hearing her cry. “How the fuck does a deaf kid make noise?”
Suddenly, a sharp bend rushed up to meet him as the track dog-legged to the right.
“Jesus!”
Mitch yanked the wheel, sending the truck careening across the track. There was a sickening metallic squeal as it mounted a rise and thudded down hard into a deep pothole. Mitch roared as his arms were flung from the steering wheel. The truck catapulted into the air, slamming him against the cabin roof, while Genevieve was pitched about like a rag doll.
The truck shuddered to a stop. The engine stalled, bringing the violent cacophony to an immediate silence.
Shaking his head against flashbulbs of light, Mitch flailed, searching for the door handle, and he shoved it open with his boot. He lurched from the cabin and grabbed at the door to support himself.
Clearing his head, he blinked in disbelief.
The four-wheel drive was leaning at a stark angle, its left-hand side pitched downward into the mud. Steam poured from under the bonnet, accompanied by a dangerous hiss that was escaping from the engine. Pulling himself forward, Mitch tripped on the uneven ground as he rounded the front of the truck and faced the vehicle.
The passenger side wheel was bent outward and up at what seemed to be an impossible angle. The entire axle was wrenched forward.
A choked gasp escaped from him as he punched the ruined tyre. Searching behind the truck, Mitch spied a long, black gouge in the earth stretching back to a massive boulder. A shattered tree trunk lay across it.
Mitch scrambled towards the boulder and skidded to a stop.
Stark realisation set in. The truck was ruined.
He tried to digest this as he stood clenching and unclenching his fists, rage fomenting, and along with it, desperation.
Suddenly, in among the rustling of the trees above and the chatter of the birds around him, Mitch became aware of a new sound, a sound that didn’t belong.
It was another vehicle.
He jerked his head up. It was coming from back down the track.
Forcing himself to action, Mitch wheeled back to the ruined truck.
He had to get out of here. Somehow. He wasn’t done for yet.
Wrenching open the passenger door, he saw Genevieve huddled on the floor underneath the dashboard. Grabbing the collar of her jacket, he yanked her from the cabin. He tried to calm her, but she slapped at him with her hands and arms.
There was no point trying to reason with her. Best to escape now and try and talk sense into her later, once they were safe.
Mitch dragged Genevieve around to the tray and threw back the canvas cover. Wrangling her aside, he pulled out a rifle and a large backpack. Hoisting the pack over one shoulder, he switched his grip on Genevieve so he could untangle the rifle’s strap and sling it over his neck.
Genevieve struggled, trying to break his hold, but his massive hand was unyielding. In an act of desperation, she bit down hard on his fingers. Mitch grunted and glowered at her, but kept his grip.
The sound of the approaching engine grew louder.
Swinging her around, Mitch ploughed forward, making for the opposite side of the track. As he swept aside some overhanging tree branches, Genevieve lost her hold on Lily and the bear fell from her hand.
She managed a choked cry as they disappeared into the bush.
> ~ Chapter 26 ~
THE HOLDEN SPED ALONG THE FIRE TRACK, APPROACHING A SWEEPING BEND. HAYDEN GRIPPED THE STEERING wheel, his concentration on the track so keen, he didn’t notice when Isabelle pointed at something outside. It took a hard slap to his shoulder for him to react.
“Look!”
Shaking his head, Hayden tapped the brake.
Off to the side of the track, at the edge of a sharp dogleg, was a dark grey four-wheel drive. Hayden noted its precarious lean. Its rear end seemed unnaturally high up on its axle, as though it was drilling down into the road.
Slowing to a crawl, Hayden saw gouts of steam pouring from under the bonnet and floating into the afternoon sky, creating ethereal shadows above them.
Isabelle felt sick. She leapt from the Holden before it rolled to a complete stop and ran towards Mitch’s truck, flanking the driver’s side and swinging around to peer through the open window.
The cabin was empty.
She glanced around the large side mirror and over through the steam. A shrill hiss issued from the ruined engine. Backing up, Isabelle leaned into the tray, lifting back the canvas so she could see into the darkened interior. There was a myriad of gear in there—tool chests, loose hand tools, several axes, a chainsaw, machinery she didn’t recognise.
There was also a rifle and boxes of ammunition.
Isabelle scanned the thick bush beyond the track and shook her head. “They’re gone. Where could they have gone?”
Hayden crouched down, inspecting the damage to the truck’s wheel and axle. “This vehicle is ruined. They’re on foot.”
“Bastard!” Isabelle stumbled back from the truck. Her chest heaved and her legs buckled.
Hayden rushed to her side, clasping her shoulders to steady her.
“I knew he’d do something like this,” she blurted. “He wasn’t going to let this go. He was never going to let me go.”
“They can’t have gotten far,” he said. “This must have just happened.”
Inside the Holden, a crackle of static issued from the UHF. Garbled voices sounded over the speaker.
“The others are close.” Hayden tried to sound reassuring. “They can help us.”
Isabelle slapped his shoulder and pushed past him. “I’m not waiting.” She turned towards the nearby bush, searching for any sign of her daughter. She scanned the ridge, populated by towering eucalyptus and tree ferns.
Hayden stepped onto the track and examined the landscape for himself, scanning down to the ground. A curious splash of colour against the darkened earth caught his eye. He stepped over several potholes between him and the object lying at the very edge of the track.
Genevieve’s teddy bear.
“Lily,” he murmured, bending down and freeing it from a tangled branch.
Isabelle spun around as he proffered the bear and she rushed over, snatching it from his hand. She squinted into the bush. Foliage close to the ground had been crushed. Several fronds of a juvenile fern had been snapped and now hung precariously.
Isabelle clutched the bear to her chest and cried out in anguish, loud enough that it echoed across the hillside.
MITCH SKIDDED TO A STOP on the ridge, yanking Genevieve like a rag doll. He cocked his ear, listening. He sensed it was Isabelle.
He knew it.
Of course she would be the one to come after him. She had always kept him from his daughter.
Hatred pulsed through him, and with it came the desire to punish her.
Genevieve continued to struggle. She was determined, that much was clear. Anger had replaced her fear and she scratched at his arm and kicked out with her legs. She made contact with his thigh, and he baulked sideways. Without warning, his right ankle rolled off the side of a fallen tree branch.
As Mitch reacted, he felt her body twist in his grip and his hold slackened. The hood of her parka wrapped around his fist and he let her go.
Genevieve dropped to the ground in a heap.
Before Mitch could register what had happened, the child scrambled and sprinted away from him. As he steadied himself, he lost sight of her in the undergrowth. Mitch whipped his head around.
“Hey!”
Without thinking, he snatched the rifle from his shoulder, threading his finger through the trigger guard in one fluid motion. Shoving the rifle stock hard against his thigh, he lifted the barrel skyward.
He fired, the rifle’s report booming across the ridge.
AT THE BOTTOM OF THE fire track, Gregor and the other members of the search party stopped where they stood as the echo from the gunshot rang off the mountains.
Gregor met Max’s fearful gaze.
He turned towards the trio who were tending to the injured hiker. “Get her back to Walhalla. I’ve radioed emergency services. Chopper’s en route.” To the remainder of the group, he twirled a finger in the air. “Let’s go.”
AS THE SHOT RANG OUT, Isabelle’s face turned to stone. She turned towards the ruined truck and reached inside the tray. Hayden swallowed hard as she withdrew a long, dark object. The rifle.
Wrenching the bolt back, Isabelle checked the chamber in an action that told him she knew her way around a firearm. Snatching up the box of ammunition, she spilled its contents onto the metal floor of the tray and gathered up several bullets. She loaded three rounds into the chamber, slapped the bolt forward and down, then shoved a handful of rounds into her pocket.
Isabelle shouldered the weapon and strode past him. She went up a small embankment and plunged headlong between the eucalyptus.
Hayden grabbed Lily from the ground and hurried after her.
Powering up the hillside, negotiating her way through low-lying foliage, Isabelle cocked her ear, trying to approximate the direction from which Mitch’s gunshot had come. She felt sick for what Mitch might have done. For what he might yet do. She willed herself to keep her wits together and concentrate all of her anger and her instinct into driving herself forward.
She hadn’t spoken. Determination set her face hard and Hayden followed close behind, noting their surroundings. This could quickly spin out of control and any confrontation could result in someone getting hurt—or killed. He hoped Gregor and the others weren’t far behind.
Isabelle stopped and she whipped up her hand as Hayden came up alongside her.
He crouched low. “What is it?”
Isabelle shoved a finger to her lips, held it there for a moment, then angled it up at the ridgeline. The sound of rustling foliage and snapping twigs issued from somewhere ahead of them.
Together, they followed the sound as it drifted to their right. Isabelle held out her hand in that direction.
Hayden tapped her shoulder. He signalled for her to continue forward. He tapped his chest to indicate his silent intention, then split off to the right. Isabelle watched him go, a knot forming in her throat. She continued on up the ridge.
GENEVIEVE HURTLED FORWARD THROUGH THE undergrowth. She leaped over thick foliage. She swerved around tree trunks and ducked under fallen branches, slapping greenery away from her face. She had little idea where she was headed. She just wanted to get away, to run as fast as she could. Nothing else mattered. Several times she tripped and fell but got back on her feet, not caring whether she had hurt herself.
Her head pounded as she repeated a singular word over and over in her mind.
Run!
He was coming for her. That knowledge sent her careening towards a precipice of sheer terror. Who knew what he would do if he found her? She had to find somewhere to hide. She had to escape.
Genevieve sensed something had spooked him. Something had made him even angrier. She prayed with every fibre in her body that someone would come to save her.
Her mother.
Hayden.
Picking up a path leading down the ridge, she hit more even ground and sprinted harder. Her chest burned from her effort. She knew she was panting and did all she could to quiet herself, so he wouldn’t hear her.
Ahead of her, as the grou
nd sloped down and away to her right, Genevieve saw the massive bulk of an overturned tree. Its devastated root system had torn free and created a deep crater in the earth, like a bunker. Dodging debris on the path in front of her and realizing she couldn’t stop in time, Genevieve stretched out and vaulted as the ground dropped away abruptly. She crashed down into the crater beside the fallen tree trunk.
Genevieve shook her head clear of stars and flailed about, trying to get her bearings. She had come to rest at the mouth of a large wombat burrow. Scrambling back, she shoved her body into the mouth of the hole and slapped a hand to her mouth.
Her pulse raced with the expectation that he would appear.
Seconds ticked by.
Through the fog of her terror, a twinge of curiosity prickled her and she hesitated. Twisting her neck up, she scanned the huge bulk of the tree trunk.
As quietly as she could, Genevieve turned and climbed up the side of the embankment, pausing to grip the undergrowth. She peeked over the edge and scanned back up the ridge.
Her eyes grew wide and relief cascaded through her as she locked onto Hayden, who was stumbling over a fallen tree fern, heading in her direction. His head was down, his concentration rooted in preventing himself from tripping on the uneven ground. She couldn’t get his attention. He was too far away.
Then he stopped.
Glancing over his shoulder, he scanned the bush behind him, remaining still for several moments. Then, he dropped to a crouch and cocked his ear to listen. Genevieve jumped up and down in frustration, waving frantically, while being careful not to expose herself in case her father saw her.
Hayden rose to his full height and continued forward, angling away from her.
No!
Genevieve began to hyperventilate. She slapped the earth in front of her and reached out towards him.
“I’m right here!” she signed, over and over again.
But Hayden did not turn. He kept moving away.
Tears streamed down her face and she swatted them away angrily.
Balancing on the side of the embankment, Genevieve dug her feet into the loose soil and held on to tufts of grass. Lowering her head and filling her lungs, Genevieve lifted her head skyward. She opened her mouth and issued a strangled cry.
