Windflowers

by Tamara McKinley

  Charlie rolled a smoke. ‘They’ll be right,’ he murmured in his matter-of-fact way. ‘Brumbies are used to storms.’

  ‘Out in the open, maybe,’ retorted Joe. ‘Reckon they won’t like it much cooped up in here.’ He pulled the saddle blankets over their eyes, gave them a pat of reassurance, checked the hobbles and joined Charlie at the mouth of the cave.

  They sat and shared a cigarette as they watched the forks of lightning jag to earth. ‘Some poor bastard’s getting it over there,’ said Joe as he followed the curtain of dust that whirled across the plains to the south. ‘Whole bloody trees are being torn up and thrown about. Wouldn’t like to be caught out in that.’

  Charlie smoked the last of the cigarette. ‘Reckon we was lucky to find this place.’ He grinned as he flicked the butt and watched it being swept away. ‘But I wouldn’t have minded getting caught – can you imagine the rush you’d get? Must be the nearest thing to flying.’

  Joe lifted a dark brow. ‘Yeah, right,’ he drawled with heavy sarcasm. ‘You do come up with some bloody silly ideas, Charlie. Must be crazy to think getting caught in that lot could be fun.’ He eyed his brother’s profile and noted the shining eyes and rapt expression. There was no getting away from it, Charlie had always pushed his luck. He seemed to have no fear, no sense of danger at all. In fact, he thought with a grin, no bloody sense whatsoever.

  The wind howled like a banshee through the tunnels and caves, making the horses prop and dance in their hobbles. Satan’s eyes rolled white, his ears flattened to his head, nostrils distended and blowing as he pawed at the cave floor. Joe went to soothe him and the others, his hands gently running down their quivering withers. Brumbies or not, the animals were terrified, and he knew that given half a chance they would be long gone.

  The wind picked up, shrieking through the canyons, tossing stones and trees and grass before it as its dervish whirls tore at the earth. Dust descended in a pall of stinging, blinding red to block out the meagre light and fill every crevice in its path. Joe caught Charlie’s excitement and together they stood at the entrance to the cave, arms outstretched to the broiling sky – almost daring the storm to come and get them.

  ‘See?’ shouted Charlie as his hat blew back and his fair hair whipped his face. ‘Told you it was a blast!’

  Joe was about to agree when the wind swiftly changed direction and he was almost knocked off his feet and sent plummeting to the canyon floor. He grabbed Charlie’s shirt and pulled him into the cave. ‘Strewth, that was close. Better stay back before it blows you away.’

  Charlie’s blue eyes were bright with excitement. ‘So what if it does?’ he yelled as he tore free and headed back to the mouth of the cave. ‘I’ve never ridden the wind.’

  Joe grabbed his arm and yanked him back from the edge. ‘Don’t be such a bloody fool,’ he shouted as he pushed him into the lee of a boulder and scrambled in beside him.

  Charlie elbowed away. ‘You ain’t no fun no more,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s only a storm.’

  Joe didn’t bother to reply. Charlie wouldn’t have listened to reason anyway – not when he was like this.

  The wind buffeted the outside walls of their hiding place, howling its fury as it bore down on them and shook the earth to its very core. Within moments it was no longer possible to speak or see, for the wind changed direction once more and spun dust and darkness into their shelter as if determined to seek them out. The brothers sat with their knees to their chins, arms tightly around their heads, noses buried, eyes shut as false night closed in. The screams of the wind echoed those of the horses as the dust storm battered the mouth of the cavern. Its howls rebounded off the walls and funnelled deep into the hillside tunnels with a bass moan that seemed to run shockwaves right through them.

  They huddled together for warmth. Shared the same mixture of fear and excitement as the storm raged around them. The terrible thrill of it all made Joe shiver. He wasn’t proud of the fear that laced his excitement, but understood it came from an awareness of how precious life was and how much he wanted to survive to see the future he’d planned. Yet he knew that given the chance Charlie would have tempted fate, taken the mixture of fear and euphoria they shared now and used them as a defiance in the face of danger. They might have been twins, but they were very different, and sometimes his brother’s almost careless attitude to life scared him far more than any storm. For Charlie would always want to live on the edge – live for the moment and not really care about the consequences.

  Perhaps Charlie’s right, he thought. Maybe I’m not so much fun any more. But we’re not kids. We’re seventeen going on eighteen. Surely with age came maturity? A time when we become responsible for our actions? He buried his head in his arms and turned his thoughts to the property he would have one day. To the horses and cattle he’d muster on green pastures, and the homestead he’d return to each night. It didn’t have to be grand, this place he dreamed of – just somewhere he could call home.

  *

  Charlie shivered as the cold wind tore through the mouth of the cave. This was life. This was living. This was part of the excitement he’d craved for so long in the dreary endless days of his youth when all there seemed to be was poverty and hard work. He grinned and instantly regretted it as dust filled his mouth and gritted his teeth. Spitting it out he buried his head deeper and imagined the future. A future of riding the plains with the wild horses. Of travelling vast distances to new adventures, new people, new places. This country was made for men like him. Men who called no place home, who forged new paths for others to follow and were of the stuff that made them legends.

  Impatience rode his back as the wind tugged at his clothes and he longed to feel the wild freedom of that wind and to join it in its mad dash across the plains. Yet he knew the time wasn’t yet right. He had a lot of living to do first, and for now he would have to be content to follow his brother’s more measured steps.

  *

  They had no idea how long they remained huddled against that dank boulder in the darkness, but as the wind’s shriek lessened and the sandblast ebbed they lifted their heads and listened. The storm was heading north, still blowing hard, still wailing and moaning as it tore a path of destruction across the empty plains – but for them the danger was past. They crawled from their hiding place, spitting dust, rubbing it from their eyes. They’d had a lucky escape.

  The horses reared and propped as they took the blankets from their heads and checked them over. One of the bays had a cut on her leg where she must have knocked against the stone wall, but it didn’t look too deep and Joe knew it would soon heal. Satan rolled his eyes, the whites gleaming in the darkness. He curled his top lip and snapped at Joe’s hand as he adjusted the bridle.

  Charlie laughed, the adrenaline still coursing through him. ‘You’ll never tame that bastard,’ he said. ‘Wanna give him to me. I’ll soon show him.’

  Joe stroked the long chestnut nose and traced the white flash on the proud forehead. ‘Can’t beat a horse into good manners,’ he drawled. ‘He lashed out ‘cos he’s scared. He’ll learn when he’s good and ready. Don’t want to kill his spirit completely.’

  Charlie snorted and took a long drink from his water-pouch. ‘Bet ya a quid I could get him sorted in a day. How about it?’ His blue eyes gleamed and the broad, enticing grin seemed forced.

  Joe recognised Charlie’s need to prove he was the better man – the stronger and more adventurous of the two who had the right of acquisition purely because he was an hour older and an inch taller. It was a familiar scene, one that had been played out ever since he could remember. Only this time the stakes were too high and he wasn’t going to give in. He shook his head. ‘Satan’s mine, and he’ll stay that way. No bets on this one, Charlie,’ he said firmly.

  Charlie untied the reins from the stone pillar and led his horses to the mouth of the cave. ‘We’ll see,’ he said under his breath.

  *

  Ellie opened her eyes. She was almost buried in her father’s t
opcoat, the weight of him bearing down on her making it difficult to breathe. ‘Dad?’ She pushed against him in an attempt to wriggle away, but found she was stuck fast. Struggling to breathe, she began to panic at the lack of her father’s response. ‘Dad,’ she said more firmly, giving him a hard jab in the stomach. ‘Get off. You’re squashing me.’

  John lay still and heavy across her, his coat-tails flapping in the remains of the wind as it chased across the empty plains. Ellie squirmed and shoved, the onslaught of dread making her heart bang against her ribs as she realised she couldn’t hear him breathing. ‘Dad?’ she yelled. ‘Dad, wake up.’ Terror brought the strength to push him harder.

  John rolled away and lay still in the dirt. His face was ashen, streaked with dry, dust encrusted blood. His mouth fell open in a silent scream and his eyes stared sightlessly at the sky through the caking of dust.

  ‘Dad?’ she whispered, her trembling fingers covering her mouth. She was unaware of the tears splashing darkly on the veil of dirt that covered her hands as she knelt beside him and touched his cold face. His head rolled to one side and she flinched at the sight of the gaping hole where his temple had once been. ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘You can’t leave me here. I won’t let you. Wake up. Wake up!’ She shook him, jabbed him, slapped his face, crying all the while for she knew it would serve no purpose.

  John lay there as still and silent as their surroundings. One hand rested by his side, open to the sky, the fingers curled as if beckoning her to clasp them. Ellie threw herself across his chest, the tears coursing tiny tracks through the dirt on his clothes. ‘You can’t die,’ she sobbed. ‘I won’t let you.’ She rested her cheek on the still chest, pummelling him with her fists in a last ditch effort to beat him back to life.

  But there was no answering movement, no rise or fall of that thin chest, no breath emanating from the open mouth. Bereft of strength she slumped against him and gave into despair. He was all she had. Now he was gone.

  The sun was almost at its zenith when she finally raised her head and faced reality. She looked at her father, so naked of all character and colour in death – so still and distant – like a stranger. She softly kissed his cheek. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I know you didn’t mean to leave me.’ Ellie knuckled back the tears. ‘But I’m scared, Dad. I don’t know what to do.’

  She knelt beside him and looked out at the vast emptiness. The storm had removed all trace of the track they’d been following and the few trees that had survived the onslaught were bare of foliage. The horses were gone. There was no sound, no welcome cloud of dust heralding another traveller. Even the birds seemed to have deserted her.

  Ellie shivered despite the warm breeze that sifted through the dust. She had never felt so alone – or so small and insignificant. She crept closer to her father’s side. Her gaze trawled the seemingly endless horizon for some familiar landmark as the sun beat down on her bare head, and finally, far in the distance, she saw the purple thumbprint of what she guessed were Cloncurry’s guardian hills.

  She finally steeled herself to look at her father, then shuddered. Flies were already swarming around his head, blackening the wound, crawling around his eyes and mouth. She knew then she had to find the courage to bury him. For death brought scavengers, she’d seen it on the roads they’d tramped despite her father’s attempt to shield her from the horror. She thought of those bundles of rags that had once been men whose search for something better had come to an ignominious end. Picked clean by the crows and the dingoes they had become the forgotten and unmourned. Dad deserved better than that.

  Ellie closed her eyes. ‘Goodbye, Dad,’ she whispered. Getting to her feet she retrieved her hat from where she had tucked it in her dungaree pocket and took a deep breath. Self-pity wouldn’t help. She had to keep her wits about her if she was to survive.

  Shadows drifted across the earth and she looked up. A flock of crows circled, dark against the midday sky. ‘Go away,’ she yelled, waving her hat at them. ‘Clear off you bludgers. You aren’t having him.’

  She looked around, panic and frustration setting in. The horses were gone, and with them the packs that carried their supplies. She had nothing to dig with, nothing to frighten the birds away. In a flash of temper she dredged up all the swear words she could think of as she grabbed a sharp stone and began to scoop the earth out around her father’s body. It was hard going and she cursed everything around her as the sun beat down and the crows gathered and the hole seemed to remain stubbornly small.

  The heat was remorseless, the sweat evaporating on her skin as her thirst grew and work on her father’s final resting place continued. Remembering the aboriginal stockman’s advice, she picked up a small, smooth pebble and put it under her tongue. She didn’t know whether it would lessen the terrible need for a drink, but it was her only option until she could find a billabong or stream. Dad had to be buried before nightfall. The sun was further west now, preparing for its final burst of glory before it dropped out of sight. She only had a couple of hours before dark.

  Ellie finally took a breather. The hole was deep enough but her nails were torn and there was a throbbing pain behind her eyes. She knelt beside her father for the last time and folded his hands across his chest. With a sigh of regret she went through his pockets. There wasn’t much there, he’d sold his watch and his snake-skin wallet some months back so they could eat. But there was the last of their wages and a couple of photographs.

  She sat back on her heels and looked at the creased and rather faded snapshots of her mother, Alicia, surprised he’d bothered to keep them after she’d shot through with her Texan oil man and left them to fend for themselves. It was then she realised dad had never stopped loving Alicia – had always believed she loved them enough to return.

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ she sighed. ‘She was never coming back.’ She tucked the snapshot and money into the pocket of her dungarees and sniffed back the tears. Dad never had been able to see mum for the selfish bitch she was, but it wasn’t her place to judge – for despite streetwise maturity she’d gained in the Domain she still found the adult world far too complex to fully understand what went on between men and women.

  She began to push the dirt back into the hole, covering first his feet and then – the hardest part – his face. As the mound of cinnamon earth finally covered him completely, she realised the shallow grave could be too easily scavenged by dingoes. The storm had littered the ground with rubble and shale and soon she had enough rocks to pile them thickly over the makeshift grave. There could be no headstone, not even a crude cross to mark this place she thought sadly. For there was nothing at hand.

  ‘What now?’ she muttered as she knelt there. She had never been to a funeral before, but she wanted to do the best she could for this lovely man who’d cared for her so much and had seen her through some of the worst times in her short life. Hesitantly, she began to recite the Lord’s prayer. It was the only prayer she knew, but the words seemed to fit the occasion and she was sure God wouldn’t mind if she didn’t do things exactly right.

  Ellie finally got to her feet. ‘Amen,’ she whispered. The grave looked so small, so isolated in the great emptiness of the outback she wondered if she would ever find it again. She looked to where the Cloncurry hills brooded in the orange glow of sunset and took a step towards them.

  A soft growl stilled her.

  Eyes wide with terror she looked over her shoulder.

  The dingo was thin, her coat as ochre as the earth, the white flash at the tip of her tail twitching in anticipation. She was not alone. She stood, alert and still, her pups close by.

  Ellie looked into the cold, unblinking eyes and knew what she wanted. She saw the teeth as the animal curled back her lip, and the drool of saliva glisten on her muzzle. She gathered small rocks and began to throw them, screaming as loudly as she could in the hope she could frighten it away.

  The dingo retreated a little way off and sat down. It would soon be dark. She could wait.

  * />
  The horses were obviously still unnerved by the storm and Satan was proving difficult to handle as the twins left the rock canyons and headed back on to the plains. ‘Gotta speed it up, Joe,’ said Charlie as he came alongside. ‘We lost nearly half a bloody day because of the storm, and that job ain’t gunna wait for us.’

  Satan wasn’t the only one affected by the storm, thought Joe. Charlie was obviously still on a rush. ‘Let the horses calm down first. If I give Satan his head he’ll take off like a rocket and the others won’t be able to keep up.’ He kept the pace at an even trot, the reins held tightly, his knees clamped against Satan’s flanks.

  Charlie tipped his hat over his blue eyes as he surveyed the miles in front of them. ‘Keep this up,’ he drawled, ‘and we’ll loose that flaming job.’

  ‘Stop your bloody whinging,’ Joe retorted. ‘Ride too hard and they’ll get blown. Then we won’t be getting anywhere. This is fast enough.’

  Charlie remained silent, but Joe could tell his impatience was rising. It was in the set of his shoulders, the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the reins and the small pulse that beat above the lightly stubbled jaw. Tough, Joe thought. No job was worth breaking your bloody neck for, and if Satan unleashed the nervous energy he’d been storing up, then that was a real possibility.

  The sun was high in the sky as Joe finally let Satan lengthen his stride into a gallop. The big horse was sweating, but giving him his head in short bursts meant he no longer pulled and fretted and the other horses didn’t seem to mind too much and were keeping up.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ said Charlie as they reined in some time later.

  Joe nodded, his gaze trawling the landscape. ‘Yeah,’ he murmured. ‘Probably just a dingo.’

  Charlie shook his head as the sound drifted across the plains again. ‘Never heard no dingo make that kind’a racket before. Sounds more like a woman.’

  Joe laughed. ‘Got women on the bloody brain, mate. Ain’t seen one so long you’re beginning to imagine things.’ Yet as the ethereal sound came again and was swallowed up by the silence he frowned. ‘Reckon we ought to go see anyhow. If it is a woman then she’s in trouble.’