by Helene Young
‘Conor, I strongly recommend staying away from these people.’
‘Sorry, Petra, it’s not an option.’
‘Have you heard the latest forecast? They’ve upgraded this thing to a cat five now, and it’s picked up more speed. Blowing 40 knots on the wind gauge here and its predicted time of crossing is now two a.m.’
‘Then I’d better get moving.’
He pocketed the phone and grabbed Kristy’s hand. She felt the heat, the power, right through to her toes. ‘Drive me to the boat and then head back into town in case she shows up there. Go. Drive.’ He gave her hand a shake, then placed it on the steering wheel. ‘Drive, Kristy. We’ll find her.’
She believed him.
30
He shouldn’t have let her drive, but he figured she needed something to keep her mind from examining the possibilities too closely. If Abby was on Glenview and in trouble, then how did they get her out? And if she wasn’t there, then where the hell was she?
The way he figured it, Freya and Buddy were probably holed up somewhere because headstrong Sissy had refused to leave her horse and Freya wouldn’t go too far without her daughter. Jeff was wrapped around Sissy’s little finger so it was just conceivable that he’d done her bidding and was helping with the horses.
‘Tell me if it’s too far-fetched, but are those girls capable of riding the horses out of there without anyone finding them?’
‘I was just thinking the same thing. Abby’s completely at home on horseback, but I don’t know about those horses. Dressage horses don’t usually take to being ridden through the bush, let alone at night and in a cyclone. Abby would also know better than to venture out in a cyclone. She’s seen the damage at Ruby Downs. Sissy?’ She ran a weary hand through her hair. ‘Sissy’s capable of anything, including gross stupidity.’
He watched as a tree branch bowled along the grass next to them and felt the car rock under the force of the wind. The rain must be due again. He was getting used to the bands of weather, the rings around the storm. Night had crept up on them. The clouds looked like a saggy canvas roof that was threatening to split and drop a deluge on the earth. The temperature had fallen further. He’d need a beanie and a waterproof.
‘So drop me off at the boat and go home, track down Sergeant Miller. Make sure Petra let him know. I’ll be in touch if I find anything, anything at all.’
‘No.’ Kristy shook her head, damp hair clinging to her cheeks and neck. Her eyes blazed. ‘No way. I’m coming with you. She’s my child.’
‘And if she’s not there? If she’s waiting for you at home?’
‘Then Mary will be there.’
‘My dinghy’s not that big.’
‘Big enough to fit four of us.’
Her phone rang, and Conor held it out to her, motioning for her to pull over again. The conditions were hairy enough already.
‘Hello?’
‘Where the fuck is she?’
‘Who is this?’
‘Jonno. Where the fuck’s Freya and Buddy?’
‘At the cyclone shelter, like every other sane person.’ She pulled on the park brake and Conor jumped out, hurried around to the driver’s side. Kristy climbed awkwardly into the passenger seat, the phone still jammed to her ear. It didn’t sound like he’d missed much of the conversation. He floored the accelerator and took off up the road, the windscreen wipers on full.
‘Jonno, I don’t see why you’re concerned – they’re in the shelter.’
‘Because your little slut of a girl is on my property with Sissy. Jeff’s just told me what he did. Fuckin’ moron was trying to help them ride out of here. Just wait till I find the two of them.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Last time I spoke to Freya she’d been shopping to stock up. Are you sure they aren’t at the evacuation centre?’ Kristy’s knuckles were white as she avoided mentioning Abby.
‘Of course I’m fuckin’ sure. What the fuck are they doing? Stealing horses, trying to fuckin’ leave? They’ll never leave, least ways not the way they came. And then I’ll come for you, Dr Dark.’ He hung up.
Kristy’s chin was still high, but Conor could see the strain in her face and her shaking hands. ‘Nicely done, doc. Guess you see a few nutters in the emergency department from time to time.’ All he could do was try to keep her on track. ‘You couldn’t do any more.’
‘He’s mad. Crazy.’
‘Yep, blokes like him have a fuse about five seconds long. So now we know the girls are definitely there.’ He estimated they had another ten minutes to go to where he’d beached the tender. He hoped like hell it was still securely tied up. The level of the river was already rising with the rainfall. ‘So ring Miller. Tell him what we know and that I’m going to get them out via the river.’
‘Can you do that? Wouldn’t the police be better?’
He shrugged. ‘Ring and ask.’
She fumbled with dialling. Conor’s jaw clenched. It was hard watching her struggle to maintain her composure.
‘Hello, Sergeant Miller? Oh . . . He’s not there? At the evacuation centre. Of course . . . No, no, I have the number. I’ll ring there. Thanks.’
She spoke as she searched for the number. ‘He’ll be flat out. The centre’s filling up and there’s already been some structural damage in the town.’
‘So let’s go with my plan B. See if you can talk to him, but . . .’
It took several minutes until they finally got the sergeant on the phone. Conor was glad he was driving. The visibility was reducing and with every minute the wind strength grew, tugging the car against the steering, making him work hard to keep it on the road. He could hear Kristy wasn’t making any headway in the conversation.
‘Put him on speaker phone. Let me talk to him.’
Kristy held the phone towards him.
‘Sir, it’s Conor. I’m moored up quite close to the property. It’s a relatively short journey up the river.’
‘Conor, I can’t recommend strongly enough that you leave this to the professionals. The McDonalds are not model citizens, but you can’t just barge onto their property. Wait for the police. Let us do our job. We can call in SERT.’ Miller sounded exasperated. Well, that made two of them.
‘And how long for SERT to get here, Sergeant? Two hours, ten hours, two days? There’s a cyclone on our doorstep and there are two thirteen-year-old girls hiding in a boatshed from a man with a gun, probably below the tidal surge line, and you’re asking me to wait?’
‘Conor, I’ve had a hard time defending your involvement with Danny and Bill’s shootings. You’re not lily white. Anything goes wrong here and they’ll hang it on you.’
‘Then I’ll just have to make sure nothing goes wrong. And if it does, then so be it. Hang me. Sorry for the trouble.’
He reached across and disconnected.
‘That long story again?’
‘Yeah, and I promise when all this over I’ll tell you it all. It’s not pretty, but it’s why I’m the man for this job. I’ll get Abby out. I promise you. Trust me. That’s all I ask.’
There was real fear in her eyes. And that’s before she knows I have two guns, Conor thought. Kristy moistened her lips and then looked out the window.
‘Trust me,’ he said again, softly.
‘I do. I know you wouldn’t deliberately hurt Abby but —’
‘No buts. I’ll get them.’
The silence stretched until they reached the lay-by. By then the rain was falling in earnest. The sides of the road were awash and the two of them squelched and slithered down the banking. The dinghy still had its bow above the water, but only just. The water rushing downstream was muddy and full of debris. Wind slammed into them, almost knocking Kristy off her feet, and he put an arm around her shoulder. She was shivering uncontrollably. Over the drumming of the rain the wind sounded like surf as it rolled through the trees. The air was alive, full of ozone from the storms, the smell of broken native vegetation pungent from being crushed and tu
mbled. Conor remembered reading something about the rain from cyclones being a different composition to that from a normal storm. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it, but it did taste sweeter.
He bundled Kristy into the dinghy. ‘Start bailing,’ he said as the water sloshed over their ankles. She didn’t argue, untangled the cut-down milk bottle from its light line and started shovelling water over the side. The motor roared to life after a couple of attempts. He jumped off again, untied the line holding them and then struggled to control the boat as the current caught it. He dug his heels in, sinking in the mud, and swung the stern towards the banking. ‘Grab the oars,’ he yelled to her. ‘We’ll need to push off.’
It took them several attempts to get the boat clear of the overhanging trees and by then they’d lost fifty metres. He put the motor into gear, grateful for the cage around the propeller as branches bumped the side of the boat. With the motor screaming at full throttle they were only puttering upstream at a walking pace. He edged towards the banks again, looking for the lower flows, and the boat leapt forward. He counted the vessels as he went. Lights on in three of them. That meant help might be possible if needed.
They reached the Lady Leonie, bobbing at anchor and looking surprisingly sedate. Apart from being all that Bill had left, with a steel hull and twin diesel engines the trawler was built to survive. A decent-size log could easily puncture the fibreglass hull of the Veritas and there’d be little chance of saving her.
He edged closer to the trawler. Both anchors were solid and the angle of the chain was still good. Ahead, the Veritas tossed its head against the ropes. He drove up to the lee of the stern, where the water eddied and raced, throwing the dinghy around like a toy. He had to keep the power up just to hold position. ‘You’ll need to jump aboard, take the rope and tie it off on the cleat,’ he said to her, raising his voice above the noise.
Kristy’s bemused look suggested he was speaking a foreign language. ‘Right,’ she replied. Her shivering had reached the stage of chattering teeth as she clambered aboard. It took her two goes, but she got the rope secured and he eased off the throttle. He checked his watch. They’d already used thirty minutes. He scrambled onto the boat and hustled her below decks. Her skin was icy.
He lit the gas stove and dropped a kettle on the ring. ‘Stand there and warm up. I’ll find dry pants for you.’ She didn’t argue.
He stripped off his own sodden clothes and changed into an old pair of training skins striped in his team colours. With a jersey over the top of a fitted singlet he could feel the warmth returning to his body. The shoulder holster for his gun fitted snugly over the jersey and he pulled a bulky jacket on top. Better to keep the gun out of sight for now. He didn’t think Kristy was going to appreciate it. The kettle was beginning to whistle and he headed back to the kitchen with a spare pair of cargo pants.
‘Here.’ He handed the pants over and turned to the stove. The heat from the flame had already warmed the cabin. He poured the water onto chocolate powder, stirred in the milk, dropped a marshmallow in the top. Kristy Dark deserved marshmallows. He looked up at the barometer on the bulkhead. Nine eighty-eight and the pressure was still dropping. It was a sign of the storm’s ferocity. He heard movement behind him.
‘Here.’ He handed her a steaming mug. Distractingly, her T-shirt clung in all the right places and the pants fitted surprisingly well. She’d combed her hair back and caught the top part in a short ponytail. There were shadows beneath her violet eyes, her lashes thick on her cheek as her lids fluttered closed with the first sip of hot chocolate. She couldn’t have looked more beautiful if she’d set out to seduce him.
Under different circumstances he would have gathered her close, tucked her under his chin and held the world and all its cruelty at bay. She brought out the protector in him, the Irish warrior who’d go to hell and back for his woman. Instead, he stood there and watched her blow on the top of the drink before she took another tiny sip.
‘Oh my God, this is good. You even have marshmallows.’ She looked at him like he’d discovered the secret of eternal life. ‘I was so cold.’
‘You should have said.’
‘No point in complaining. How far from the McDonalds’ are we?’ She took a bigger mouthful this time.
‘I’m not sure. I haven’t been all the way up to it, but at that barbecue someone mentioned this creek as leading off on the second bend. I’m optimistic.’ He downed his own drink, the warmth spreading out from his stomach. ‘We have fifteen minutes until Abby turns her phone on again. Ready to go when you’ve finished that. I’ve got you a proper waterproof as well. That one of yours is useless.’
She swallowed the last mouthful and followed him up the companionway. He picked up a bright red coat with reflective patches and helped her put it on. It hung to her knees. He grabbed the velcro straps at the wrist and tightened them. ‘Ready?’
‘Yep.’
‘Okay. Let’s do this.’ He helped her into the dinghy and passed down two high-powered torches. The Veritas was still bucking against the lines, but they were holding. He hefted his backpack up onto his shoulders, feeling the weight of ammunition, the second gun, rope, a hunting knife, space blankets, chocolate and water. He had no idea what he was going to find, or whether he’d have a vessel to come back to.
‘Good?’
Kristy nodded, her skin pale in the eerie light. Night had come early with the dense cloud and heavy rain.
He climbed aboard and with a swift pull had the motor burbling. The rain was horizontal now and the only saving grace was that, going upstream, it would be on their backs. The return journey wasn’t going to be pretty.
A roar of an approaching wind gust brought with it the crack and snap of a tree losing the battle. It sounded like a giant, thundering through the forest on the riverbank, crushing lesser trees beneath it. Conor felt the thump of its trunk hitting the earth. It would only take one monster to come downstream in the dark to wipe them out. At least the strengthened hull on the dinghy was good for something.
‘Can you lie on the front and point the light ahead?’ he called, the wind whipping his words away.
She fiddled with the torch and found the switch. ‘Like this?’ She swept the light across the surface, but all that came back was reflection from the white curtain of rain.
‘No, lie forward, hold it in front of you and keep it pointing about twenty feet out.’
‘Okay.’ She sounded nervous, but he could finally see a little way ahead. Staying close to the banks, they were making reasonable speed. No matter how urgent the situation, he had no desire to push it and damage the motor.
‘My phone.’ Kristy called over her shoulder. ‘I think there’s a message.’
‘Get it.’
She turned the torch off and dug in her pocket, shielding the phone up against her chest.
‘It says, Are you here?’ She looked back at him. ‘How far away are we?’
‘Ask them if they can see the river.’
Something heavy smashed into the boat and Kristy lost her balance, dropping to the floor with the phone still cradled in her hand. Conor had to pull hard on the tiller, gunning the motor to steer them back on course. Kristy scrambled to her feet, rested on the side, clutching her elbow.
‘You all right?’ he yelled, unable to do anything to help her. She nodded, peering at the phone, as she typed.
Seconds later the phone lit up. ‘They can see the river.’
‘Tell her to keep looking for a light. Text as soon as she sees it.’
Kristy bent to the phone again. She looked up, her face grave. ‘Done. Now I better make sure the light’s shining.’
They made it to the next bend of the river. It looked like a fork. Conor swore.
‘Which way?’ Kristy called.
He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. I wasn’t expecting another branch. Shine it right.’ He was struggling to orientate himself, and looked behind. They’d been steadily curving to the left as they travelled, so wa
s this a bend or just another tributary? He couldn’t remember crossing a bridge or a causeway on the road trip to Glenview, so that would make the left-hand branch the correct one.
‘Conor?’ she asked, raising her voice against the pounding wind. It was battering them now.
‘Fucked if I know. Let’s try left. It’s a bloody long way across that stretch of water.’
‘What?’
‘Left, go left!’
The beam swung and he gunned the motor again. It was sounding stressed. He kicked the fuel tank at his feet. Half full if he was lucky.
‘Something big coming down!’ Kristy screamed, flattening herself against the inflatable side. ‘Oh shit.’ She clung on as the boat bucked and tossed.
The tree branches wrapped around the vessel, slewing them sidewards. Conor grunted, his shoulders screaming as he hung on and tried to steer. There was no way through it. He’d have to try turning with it. The motor clunked into reverse and he hauled the tiller towards him. Kristy struggled to sit up and shine the torch. It blinded him. ‘Stay down!’ he yelled. ‘Stay down.’
She huddled on the floor, the branches scraping along the vessel, dragging it back down the seething torrent. Conor kept battling and edged towards the middle, dreading that the tree might snag on something else. It would be catastrophic with the speed of the water. He realised Kristy had an oar in her hand and was pushing against the largest branch jammed over the topside of the boat. If the oar didn’t snap, it just might work.
He pushed away on the tiller, reversing the direction so he and Kristy were both working together. With a jolt they shot free, going backwards in a circle. He put the motor into gear again and they hurtled forward, narrowly missing the last branches of the same tree.
Kristy scrambled for the torch, shining it over the front again. It took another five minutes to force their way back to the fork in the river. Water sloshed over his ankles. They’d need to bail again. The visibility was only a hundred metres. He stayed closer to the bank this time and their speed increased. The surface of the water was pockmarked with rain. His cheeks and hands were stinging from the force of it. The boat staggered again, its nose lifting with a violent wind gust. Another tree crashed to the ground on their left.
