Storm Coming

by Free Falconer

  There was a loud bang, the steering wheel bucked in her hands and the car slewed across the road. Sherry fought for control and realised the car was listing just before she heard the tell-tale thwap-thwap-thwap of a flat tyre.

  “Dammit!” She pulled over and cut the engine. The silence when the engine died was sudden as a slap, the engine ticking as it cooled. A breeze sighed past and the dry grass rippled in a shimmer of silver. Somewhere in the distance a crow cawed, once. “Typical.”

  Sherry glanced back at the children. Isabella had woken and was staring out the window, her eyes bright with curiosity. Damien had fallen asleep but he was grizzling, and would wake soon. She had a spare tyre and a jack - of course - but both were buried under the stack of bags and boxes packed in the back of the hatch.

  There was no way around it. She was going to have to take everything out of the back of the car and pile it beside the road before she could pull out what she needed to change the tyre.

  It took her nearly ten minutes get everything out of the car so she could lift the floor of the hatch and pull the tyre and jack out, and only five to change it. Hot and cranky, she began to pack everything back into the car. She was putting in the last of the bags when Damien started to cry, a thin, stressed wail that told her he needed changing. Isabella, silent, had already unstrapped herself from her seat and was standing with her nose pressed to the window.

  Sherry gave in to the inevitable. She could drive on with a screaming baby in the back of the car, or she could let both children out of the car for a while to give them all a chance to unwind, maybe even take the opportunity to eat her own lunch. Then they could continue the journey in peace. A quick glance back at the mountain told her the storm was holding off.

  She ended up spending more time parked beside the road than she intended, spreading a blanket on the grass close by the car, in its shade. She changed Damien, gave both children a drink, had a drink herself and ate her lunch. When Damien dozed off she left him lying on the blanket in the shade and played chasy with Isabella, careful to keep him in sight. Then she went back for Damien, swinging him up onto her hip, and walked hand-in-hand with Isabella through the grasses, stomping her feet to scare off snakes and stopping every now and again to let Isabella crouch to examine tiny purple flowers, or an insect, or a pretty stone. Damien sat back and looked bright-eyed around him at first, content to be held. But when he yawned and snuggled against Sherry’s shoulder she decided it was time to go.

  When she got back to the car it was like an oven inside. She wound down the back windows to release the heat, but only halfway. Enough to cool the car a little while leaving it warm enough to lull the children into sleep when they started driving. She checked the buckles weren’t hot enough to hurt tender skin then strapped both children in, her hands gentle. She left the doors open while she picked up the blanket and shook it out before folding it and putting it in the back, checked the side of the road to be sure she had left nothing behind, then closed the back doors before getting behind the wheel and driving away.

  It was later than she thought. A lone tree in the grass threw a long finger of shadow, pointing east. The road led her steadily south-east, and the occasional gumtrees grew fewer and farther apart before disappearing completely. Swells of grass stretched out to either side of the road, mile after mile of it. But far ahead a large stone rose beside the road, dark grey and incongruous against the pale grass. It grew and grew as she approached, until she could see it was over twelve feet tall. She stared at up at it when she passed, feeling again that sense of the surreal. The stone should have been lurking on a moor somewhere, wondering where Heathcliffe and Kathy had got too, not brooding over hot dry grass under a white-hot sun.

  She left it behind but soon another appeared, further from the road, and after that came more of them, in a small cluster atop a swell in the grasslands. Soon the grassland was dotted with with tall grey boulders, every one of them as rounded smooth as a river rock. Their shadows all pointed east, like the shadows of the trees, dozens of silent commands for her to keep on moving.

  They made her uneasy, enough that she wanted to turn the car around and drive back the way she had come. But that would mean driving into the storm and up that ridiculous road, with nowhere to spend the night when she got to the top. And what was she so frightened of anyway? Rocks? Grass? Maybe it the emptiness of it all, the complete absence of people. Or maybe, she thought wryly, it was displaced worry about ending her marriage and moving to a new town where the only person she knew was an aunt she had visited once, thirteen years ago.

  To distract herself she tried to work out where the boulders had come from. She had read about boulders being dragged down valleys by glaciers, but she couldn’t remember if Australia had ever had glaciers. Whatever the explanation, it was weird. Wind hissed across the dry grass and moaned past the stones. From somewhere came a muffled sobbing.

  “Isabella?” She checked the rear view mirror but Isabella was asleep, her flushed cheek pressed against the headrest of her car seat and tiny ringlets plastered to her forehead with perspiration. Sherry tilted the mirror to check on Damien. His chubby face was relaxed in sleep, one fist jammed in his mouth, and he was snuffling to himself. Could that have been what she heard? A whisper of sound, teasing at the edge of her hearing, transformed by her own uneasiness into sobbing.

  And why shouldn’t she be uneasy? It had been a long time since she had seen another person or even another car, not since that petrol station at Thredbo. None had come from the opposite direction, and none were following her. The oncoming storm was probably keeping all the locals safe indoors. It made sense, really, to be uneasy. No people, no signs of habitation even, the constant silence and the ever-present threat of the storm, all combining to play tricks on her nerves.

  Well, she could do something about the silence, if nothing else. She reached forward to turn the volume on the radio down low before switching it on. An electric hum filled the car. She twiddled the dial, past pops and weird wailings and the surging sea-noise of static, until she found the low buzzing dirge of a didgeridoo. She left it there, thinking she had found a rural station, barely in range, that was playing her people’s traditional music.

  But she soon became aware that there was another noise on the radio, in the background, something she couldn't quite make out. She concentrated, trying to block out the didgeridoo noise, and recognised it. Sobbing.

  Eew! How morbid was that, a tune composed of didgeridoo music and weeping? She stabbed at the dial, killing the sound, and silence once again filled the car. Probably some arthouse piece symbolising the plight of Indigenous Australian, and in the comfort of her own home she would probably be able to appreciate it, but not here and now. She considered trying the radio again, maybe find a local station with news about the storm, but decided against it. She should focus on the road.

  Something flickered in the side mirror, but when she looked there was nothing. She kept an eye on the mirror anyway, wondering what it had been. That’s all she needed right now, to hit a roo and watch it bounce away happily after it had totalled her car. Then she saw the black clouds of the storm behind her flash, flickering from dark purple to pale brown. Lightning. That must be what she had seen. The flicker of lightning seen from the corner of the eye, a flash of movement. The sound of thunder reached her then, almost comforting in the silence, having rolled down the mountain and across the wide grasslands to pace along the road until it caught up with her car. It was a muted grumbling, so low she could barely make it out. And, now she thought about it, a little like sobbing.

  The straight road curved gently left and now she was going east, where all those shadows had been urging her to go. First the gums, then all those weird grey stones. Which were gone now. Well, almost. She could see one of them ahead, leaning over the road as if lying in wait. Sherry rolled her eyes at her own silliness. Seriously? What next, a bullet-ridden sign pointing the way to Wolf Creek? Cue ominous chords of music.


  Another mutter of thunder came from the mountain far behind her, and she almost laughed. Not funny, mountain!

  Without warning the tarmac petered out, the orange gravel of the verges fanning inward to become a dirt road. Sherry tapped the brakes to slow the car but still hit dirt faster than she intended. Loose gravel popped and tinged under her feet, loud enough that she worried it might wake the children. She eased down gently on the brake, slowing until the small stones crunched under the tyres instead of being spat up to hit the chassis. A low cloud of dust rose in her wake, was caught by the following wind and blown forward to catch up with the car. “Close the window, love,” she told Isabella, then remembered Isabella was asleep.

  She pulled the car over to the side of the road in the shade of that lone rock. But she couldn't bring herself to turn off the engine. It was silly, but she needed to hear that reassuring purr. What if the engine wouldn't start again? It hardly seemed worth the risk.

  She pulled on the handbrake and got out of the car, held onto the door and squinted against the blowing dust at the road behind. That wind was really picking up, coming straight off the mountain and scudding along the road, pushing at the back of her car hard enough to shift it on its springs. She remembered how strong it had been, up in Thredbo, and frowned. Worse still, the storm was finally moving, spilling down the mountain. If the wind was anything to go by, that storm would soon be chasing her down the road, black clouds and torrential rain and lightning cracking loud overhead. Best to be gone when it got here.

  Wind wailed over the nearby boulder. Sherry opened the door beside Isabella and wound up the window then walked around the back of the car, squeezing between the car and the boulder to get to Damien’s door. She wound up the window and, since she was there, locked the door. No reason. It was just common sense, now that Isabella was old enough to unstrap herself and open the doors while they were moving. She should have thought of it earlier, and reached across the car to lock the door beside Isabella. She walked around the front of the car, avoiding that looming grey rock, and as she rounded the bonnet she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of the eye, by the base of the boulder. She spun around, her eyes searching the grass around the stone. A rabbit? A snake?

  Strange how the boulder was now so much closer to the car than she had thought. Its long dark shadow dropped across the car, the tip almost seeming to reach for her. But there was nothing moving at its base, nothing but the windblown grass. That was probably it. Wind had blown the grass, bowing it low and letting it spring back up. That could have looked like something small and dark, darting out of sight, avoiding her.

  When she got back into the car she locked her door, then leaned over and locked the front passenger door as well. When she pushed down, gently, on the accelerator there was a moment when nothing happened, as if the road clung to her car and wouldn’t let it leave the shadow of that gloomy road. But the tyres eventually gripped the gravel and rolled forward, with a crunch. She accelerated slowly and evenly, resisting the urge to put her foot down hard on the accelerator. In the rear-view mirror she could see that boulder, leaning low over the road.

  Why hadn't she noticed before how close it was to the road, and how far over it leaned? What a stupid place to pull over, right next to a giant stone that could have fallen on top of the car. Gravel popped against the undercarriage and she realised her foot was pushing down on the accelerator. She eased her foot off the pedal, cross at herself. That’s all she needed, to have an accident in the middle of nowhere because she got spooked and drove too fast. The road curved and the next time she checked the rear view mirror the boulder was gone. No, not gone, left behind. Like her marriage, like Dave, like the nice old man at the petrol station. That’s what making a new start meant, after all. Right?

  The car crested a low rise and she realised she was driving along a valley, probably the valley the old man had mentioned. Two rows of high grassy hills lined the horizon both sides, and ahead of her they closed in, narrowing the stretch of dry grass. She checked the rear-view mirror, saw the valley widening out into a fan. And running down the centre of the valley, straight as a ruler, was the dirt road, transformed by the slanting rays of the setting sun into a ribbon of burnt orange.

  She crested another of those hidden rises and ahead of her was a beautiful piece of scenery, as carefully composed as a painting. A cluster of trees rose about the roof of a house, right where hills and road converged, the only house in the valley. She squinted and was just able to make out the faded red of an iron roof amongst the dark foliage. The only trees in the whole valley, standing tall and clustered about a house in an ocean of pale grass, the sky high and blue and empty above. It was almost spooky.

  Her spirits lifted. It was so silly, to get spooked by grass and big stones and a bit of wind. Just as well the children were asleep, so she couldn't infect them with her nervousness. And wasn't she supposed to be in tune with the land or something? Not that she had ever felt anything of the sort. Her adoptive parents had been good, loving people, but they didn't know much about Aboriginal culture. The little she knew came from documentaries, and Dreamtime stories read out to her class by her teacher at her very liberal private school, and the occasional radio program.

  She relaxed, driving slowly and carefully towards the house. The wind was picking up, lifting more clouds of dust to race past the car. But she was paying attention now and she didn’t let that tempt her into putting her foot down. She concentrated on the road, saw the grass dipping and bowing out of the corner of her eye but didn't let it worry her. So what if the grass didn’t always bow in the same direction? Wind often swirls, especially when it is being funnelled between hills. That was probably where willy-willies came from, so it shouldn't worry her that the grass moved as if something circled within it.

  She mustn’t let her imagination run away with her. She had been letting her imagination run away with her for a while now, and it was time to admit it. Who was she kidding, telling herself she was calm? Every time she stopped paying attention her foot pressed down on the pedal as if she was trying to make a run for it.

  No wonder there were so many accidents here. Wasn’t that what the old man said, lots of accidents on this road? The place spooked people. The rocks, the silence, the wind. It made them so nervous they started seeing thing. Then they started driving too fast. Add a surface of treacherous gravel and city drivers unused to country conditions to the fall of night, and it was only a matter of time before someone had an accident and went careering into the grass. Or worse, into one of those bloody great stones.

  The road curved, dipped a little, rose and curved again. The valley was deceptive, not as flat as it seemed. Sometimes she lost sight of the house nestled in its copse of trees, but never for long. On one curve she glanced toward the house and was dazzled by a flash of light, most likely the setting sun reflected in a window. It was such a small thing, such an everyday, humdrum thing, and it amused her that she found it so comforting. She was such a city girl – what would her ancestors think if they could see her now?

  The road was leading her closer and closer to the house, despite the curves that delayed her approach, but it was taking its time about it. Eventually she would drive right by the front door. The house was not set back from the road at the end of a long driveway, like so many houses in the country. Why did people in the country do that, build their houses so far from the road? Maybe to cut down on the amount of noise from passing cars. A lone car travelling in this silence would be really noticeable. She could hear the engine of her own car, unnaturally loud, echoing off the hills. Despite the closed windows. No worries about catching the inhabitants of this house unawares – they must have been listening to her approach for a while now.

  How did the people in that house earn a living? There were no fields ploughed here, and it didn't look like the land was particularly fertile or rich. Not if the only things that grew here were grass and stones. She grinned, remembering the mud farm in Monty
Python’s Life of Brian. She looked out both sides of the car, searching for livestock. Some dozing cattle maybe, or a couple of horses, maybe even some sheep. Nothing. As far as she could tell, the land looked exactly the way it had before white settlers arrived. Except for that house.

  What about the people who were here before the white settlers? Surely there had been some Aboriginal people here before Australia was 'discovered’? The valley was hardly a garden spot, but Aboriginal people had lived in the harsher desert areas. Still did, some of them. She caught sight of the house again and grimaced. It some settler had decided to squat here, he would have given short shrift to the people who were here first. He would have driven them off, maybe even killed them.

  Cue morbid didgeridoo music with weeping. She snorted. Why was she even thinking about this stuff? It had never bothered her before. But then, why would it? Her adoptive parents had money when she was growing up, enough for a large house in a better class of suburb. Enough for her to attend a private school. The money had lasted long enough to get her through high school, sheltering her from the worst of the prejudice in the world and giving her a place in society. Not long enough to see her through university, though. When her father got too sick to work, the money was gone. A GP with a thriving practice, and relatively young, he had not bothered with income protection insurance. Well, not enough. What superannuation he had was soon swallowed up by bills and medical expenses. The big house was sold, not just to avoid the mortgage payments, but to finance the assisted living facility where Sherry’s father and mother now lived. Gone too were the boat and the second car. It was Sherry who had decided there was no money for university, and that she would find work to release her parents from financial obligation. She decided she was young and she could always go later, so she had deferred. Then she met Dave, and the rest was history.