Heart of the Outback

by Lynne Wilding

  She looked around her, at the stark countryside, willing Natalie to appear. She didn’t. Finally, sighing, she turned Astra around and retraced her steps to the campfire which had stopped smouldering. Darkening shadows were climbing down the ravine arm in arm with an accompanying chill. Stay calm, she told herself but already her pulse had started to race and apprehension was stiffening her spine.

  Now, with only half an hour of daylight left, Francey was forced to reassess her situation. It seemed clear that for whatever reason, Natalie wasn’t going to or couldn’t return. Dear God, she hoped she was all right. So, what were the alternatives? She sighed again, it looked like a night in the ravine. How bad could that be? She dismounted and scrambled towards the fire, poking about with a stick. Maybe she could get it going again. After several frustrating minutes she stopped. No such luck!

  Okay, plan B. What did she have with her? No lighting, no food or water but at a pinch she could use Astra’s saddle blanket for warmth, though her nose wrinkled up at the thought of the smell. Oh, well, she said to herself stoically, she would just have to make the best of it … until morning.

  She removed the saddle and blanket, led Astra to a clump of yellow grass so she could feed and dragged the saddle up under the overhang just as sunset extinguished all light.

  When darkness fell, it enveloped everything. It was blacker than anything she had experienced. Blacker than when she had been on the muster where they’d taken care to keep the fire banked all night. And the wind had dropped, causing an eerie stillness. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night but she took heart in the fact that at first light the Murrundi people would send out a search party. Natalie had probably told Alison Wontow where they were going, so all she had to do was get through the night and everything would be fine. By tomorrow evening she’d be laughing about the escapade.

  But despite all the mental bolstering up, tentacles of fear began to nibble at the edges of her mind, drawing power from the darkness and her own insecurity. What if Natalie couldn’t get back to Murrundi? What if she hadn’t told anyone where they were going? What if …?

  The blackness pressed in on her and she wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging and rocking herself, trying to dredge up some inner strength. The darkness was so thick she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. She closed her eyes and the blackness became softer, more reasonable, less threatening.

  But try as she might she couldn’t stop the voice that repeated in her head until the trembling began in her arms and legs and finally overcame her. You’re alone … alone … alone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As a small child, Francey had been afraid of the dark. Afraid of sounds she couldn’t recognise and shadows that seemed unnatural and threatening. Now, as the blackness enclosed her, those childhood fears resurfaced. It was like being in a void, a terrible nothingness.

  She could hear her heart beating, the pace increasing as fear won over reason and the blood began to course heavily through her veins. Even her breathing sounded different, laboured. Her nerve ends tingled for no reason. Everything had become highly accentuated because of the dark.

  Her hearing was twice as acute, and tuned in to the night sounds. She could hear Astra’s bridle clinking, and her occasional neigh or hoof stomp. The sound of the breeze which had died before sunset returned to stir the shrubs and trees. Branches scraped against rock, leaves rustled, and the cold intensified, working its way through her clothes, her skin, to her very bones until she began to shiver.

  Sitting on the hard rock beneath the overhang Francey tried to roll herself into a tight ball. She drew her knees up towards her chest, clasped her arms about them to hold them there, and let her head fall forward onto her knees. She wrapped the horsy smelling blanket tight around her shoulders, vainly trying to find a modicum of warmth but she knew this was as comfortable as she’d get. Now, if only she could fall sleep!

  She couldn’t. Never had she felt so wide awake and so alone. She tried to pep her courage up with the reminder that this was only one night. With mock bravado she convinced herself that she could get through this, and when she was back at Murrundi, she’d laugh about the experience with CJ and the others.

  She wondered if Natalie was all right, or was she stuck somewhere in the bush like her, alone? And then she mentally replayed the events from the time she’d kicked sand onto the fire. She shook her mop of black hair in consternation at what had happened. Nothing should have happened. For the life of her she didn’t know what had made Pharaoh bolt. He was a frisky horse, but she’d watched Natalie handle him with ease all afternoon. So her sudden inability to control him was puzzling, in the extreme.

  Scrunched up defensively against the blackness she tried to remember what Les and Alison and Shellie had said about being in the bush, about surviving. Already her mouth felt dry and it was becoming hard to salivate. By tomorrow morning she would be really thirsty. Dehydration. Les said that became the real danger for anyone lost in the bush without water. In the summer, because of the temperature, one could expect to last only a day or two in such conditions. But this was August, one didn’t sweat or need as much water, she reassured herself. Besides, by midmorning she’d be found and on her way back to Murrundi.

  The wind strengthened, whistling under the overhang, buffeting her as she sat there. The rock beneath her was stone cold and the chill evening began to make her shiver. She yawned. God, she was tired but the cold, the darkness, the wind, her fear, stopped her from relaxing enough to fall sleep.

  What a stupid damned thing to have happened. She yawned again and closed her eyes, trying every trick she could think of to fall asleep. Counting sheep, saying the rosary, singing songs to herself, nothing worked. For Francey sleep became as elusive as warmth on this cold winter’s night.

  As the first grey light of dawn peeped over the top of the ravine an exhausted sleep finally settled over her. She had shivered most of the night, cramped as the cold seeped into all her muscles, and had ached from the effort of trying to mentally keep the chill at bay.

  The cloudy sky obscured the sun and stopped any morning warmth from seeping into the depth of the ravine. She shivered in her sleep. Her body now on its side, she used the saddle for a pillow and had the old musty blanket draped over her torso. Her knees were drawn up and her hands lay pressed between them, subconsciously seeking whatever warmth she could.

  Francey woke with a start. A noise. A rock from the back of the overhang had come loose. With one eye open she watched the fist-sized rock roll down the slope onto the ravine floor. Daylight. Thank God.

  Unkinking her slender frame she sat up, stretched and moaned at the stiffness of her body — she ached from head to toe. She blinked a couple of times against the light and then focused on her watch. Eleven fifteen. Midmorning! She should have felt refreshed but she didn’t. As her brain became truly awake she did a mental calculation. They, someone, should have reached her by now.

  She tried to swallow but there was no saliva in her mouth. She coughed and then moaned as her stiff muscles objected to the activity. Why weren’t they here? What could be keeping them? Aahhh, they might be looking for Natalie too, so it could take longer. God, how much longer? She looked down into the ravine for Astra. The horse was nowhere in sight. Standing up, she then scrambled down the slope, almost slipping to the ravine floor. No sign of the horse.

  Now she was truly alone. No company, not even of the four-legged variety, and no means of getting out of the ravine, even if she decided to. Stuck.

  Don’t panic!

  She panicked. She began to walk back and forth, five steps one way, turn, five steps the other. Walking helped her to think. She forgot that she was wasting precious energy, drying herself out a little more with every step, every turn. Think. Up till now she had been able to tell herself that everything would be all right. That it was only a matter of time before someone found her. Doubts crept in, multiplied, tripled. What if Natalie had been found unconscious and couldn
’t tell them where she was? They’d have no idea of where to look. In her mind’s eye she remembered the plains, the never-ending stretch of land that went in all directions. How could anyone find a single person without a clue or two? It would be impossible.

  This is no good, she told herself. Get a grip, for God’s sake. Show some intestinal fortitude. Her body came to an abrupt halt. Oh, yes, that would get her a long way, she derided. She wasn’t stupid. She was stranded. No water and no transport and for all she knew, no-one knew where she was.

  She slowly sank to her knees, closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  Sergeant Steve Parrish enjoyed fossicking despite the fact that most of the people in the Isa had told him there were few precious gems to be found loose on the ground. The experts hadn’t been one hundred per cent right, experts rarely were, he’d found. He had discovered traces of ribbon stone and jasper and a shard or two of crystalline quartz. Besides, since the day he’d found some fine specimens which had checked out to be trilobite fossils his primary interest had become fossilised rocks. Specimens were in demand at tourist shops along the Queensland coastline. A nice sideline hobby for him too.

  However, when he went out he didn’t really care whether he found anything or not. His main enjoyment came from the activity of stuffing his saddlebags with supplies and taking off on his horse for a few days camping, something he only did in winter because it wasn’t too hot. Curiously, he had never gone camping when he’d lived in Sydney but up here he loved it and had been doing so on his days off ever since he’d come to the Isa. His sister would have laughed herself silly at him, “the scourge of Redfern” as he’d been known as a teenager, enjoying such mundane tasks. He had a map of the district which he’d divided into grids and he was systematically camping in each one, spending a few days looking around and then moving onto another grid the next trip.

  Yesterday he had camped beside a shallow creek that had a few millimetres of water flowing in it, enough for cooking and washing. After breakfast he’d struck off to the east, pottering about in his usual fashion. Steve acknowledged that some folks thought it a strange hobby for a copper. He didn’t give a damn what they thought. One day, he’d bring Francey out, if she’d come with him. Thinking about her he smiled as he ambled along, kicking over stones, sometimes dropping to his haunches to turn one over and dig with his small pick amongst the debris.

  Much later in the day he turned back towards the creek, deciding to follow its trail back to camp. Creek beds were often a good place to find fossilised stones, if one had the patience to dig for them. Today hadn’t been a good day though and his specimen bag was empty. As he returned to camp something caught his eye. His eyebrows shot up in amazement as he looked up from the creek’s bank to find, not only his own horse hobbled so it wouldn’t stray, but a second, saddleless horse with the reins trailing on the ground.

  Vaulting up the bank he then slowed his approach so he wouldn’t spook the other horse. He picked up the reins and his hands moved towards the bridle, looking for some mark of ownership. On the metal part of the bridle was the word “Astra”. And sure enough, on the mare’s left rump was the brand MD. Murrundi Downs. Bloody odd! Clicking his tongue, he led the horse to the creek and let it drink its fill, all the while studying it.

  “You’re a long way from home, girl,” he said as he patted her muzzle. She nickered in agreement and nuzzled his hand. He’d better find out what she was doing wandering so far from the station. Maybe one of the stockmen had had an accident.

  He took his mobile phone out of his supply bag and patched a call through to the Isa police station, got Murrundi’s number and dialled again.

  “Shellie?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Steve Parrish. I’m out in the bush, camped on Browns Creek. I’ve come across a Murrundi horse, no saddle. Anyone missing?”

  “Oh, Steve, thank God. That must be Astra. Things are in a mess here. Mike and the boys are out looking for Francey.”

  Steve straightened. “Francey. Shellie, you’d better explain.”

  “She and Natalie went for a ride yesterday afternoon, off the property down south-west. Natalie’s horse bolted and by the time she’d got Pharaoh under control and returned to where Francey was, there was no trace of her. They’ve been looking for her since first light.”

  Steve stroked his chin. “You said south-west?”

  “Natalie said they went south-west.”

  “Have you got the helicopter out looking?”

  “Can’t. Les and CJ are away. I’ve spoken to them and they’re on their way back now. Les won’t be able to get the helicopter up until mid to late afternoon.”

  “Okay. Look, I’ll start a search in this area. Keep me posted through the police station, will you?”

  “Of course. As soon as we find anything, I mean, Francey, we’ll let you know.”

  His brown eyes looked at the foothills around him, the red earth, the odd grouping of spindly gums and bluebush. Damn. Francey lost, out here. Jesus Christ. This was killer country. His jawbone tightened until it ached. He remembered one of the first cases he’d been on after arriving in the Isa. There had been an all-out search for a woman lost in the bush. Her off-road vehicle had run out of petrol but she hadn’t stayed with it. She’d thought she could walk and find someone. They had found her two days later, dead from heat exhaustion.

  Unbidden into his thoughts came the image of Francey lying face down on the red earth, not breathing. A wave of fear such as he’d never known before surged through him. Francey wasn’t used to the bush, she wouldn’t know how to survive out here …

  Steve knew he was no tracker, not like Billy Wontow, but because there’d been recent rain the ground might be soft enough for him to find and follow Astra’s trail. Without further ado and with an economy of movements he packed up. Five minutes later, repacked, his horse saddled and Astra’s reins tied to his saddlebag, he was ready to go.

  Astra’s trail led to the east, slightly south. Walking for twenty to thirty metres he found Astra’s track. Mounting his horse and with eyes peeled on the trail he moved forward through the yellow grass and mulga. As Steve continued to follow Astra’s trail he saw that the horse, probably thirsty, had followed the smell of water to the creek. Ahead, in the distance, he saw that he was heading towards an area known to have a small, narrow ravine and it was definitely east. Definitely.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  How long Francey sat in a depressed state she declined to put into a time frame. As the sun warmed her head and the top of her shoulders she looked up. Clouds were splitting to allow the sun and a bright blue sky to show through. Somehow, beginning to feel warm made things better, and with it came a wellspring of hope.

  She couldn’t just sit idle and wait. She had to do something, anything.

  A fire.

  The hope grew as she thought the possibility through. Smoke from a fire would be visible many kilometres away, and the fire would warm her and keep the fear away. But she had no matches! She sighed pensively but her mind was set, focused. She glanced around the floor of the ravine and saw plenty of fallen twigs and tree branches, dried grass and dead leaves. All the necessary components for a fire except that she needed a match to ignite them. She walked back up the rise to where the saddle and saddlebags sat. For two minutes she rummaged through the bags, hopeful of finding a box of matches. No such luck. Her eyes came to rest on one of her cameras. Lenses. Glass. Magnified light equals a spark equals ignition! Concentrated heat from the sun on a certain spot could make a spark and start a fire. Yes! She grinned. Her shoulders squared confidently. She could do it. In movies it happened often enough and didn’t the actor always make it look simple?

  But she was no girl scout. The grin spread a little wider across her face, her first smile since sunset yesterday. She would give it a damned good try.

  It took an hour to gather materials and arrange the signal fire on the site where Natalie had boiled the billy. Once she had done t
hat, she put dried gum leaves with pieces of dried grass on top of a wide branch as she remembered seeing done in the movie Quest for Fire, but instead of using friction — her hands and a pointed stick to create the spark — the camera lens would be her medium. However she wasn’t sure whether the sun was strong enough yet to create sufficient heat to strike a spark, and after half an hour her arms and shoulders ached from holding the lens tautly in position.

  Nothing happened. No spark, no puff of smoke and then voilà, fire.

  Patience had never been Francey’s strong point — she was too active a person. But after her sorties to find wood, and building the fire up, the lack of water and food had begun to weaken her constitution. And perversely, all she could think of as she waited was liquid. Various types of liquid. Ice cold water, ice blocks. White wine with the condensation dripping down the outside of the glass; thin soup; Coca Cola. Images of CJ’s pool, the spa and the Pacific Ocean floated before her glazed eyes to add to her torment.

  Her throat was parched and felt raw. Swallowing had become painful. She had no spittle, not a drop of moisture inside her mouth. Fatalistically, she knew that if she had to spend another day without liquid she’d probably lapse into delirium. Then it wouldn’t matter about the fire. It wouldn’t matter about anything.

  Her eyelids drooped, then closed and her thoughts drifted to Steve. They had a date this Friday night. It would be a relief to cry but even her tear ducts had dried up. She missed him. And she wanted him. Yes, she could admit it, now. She wanted him — the sudden depth of her feeling in this regard left her breathless. Then, curiously, as she hovered in a semiconscious state, a line of people marched before her closed lids. Her parents, Meredith, whose baby was almost due. CJ and the people at Murrundi. She’d come to think of them as her friends. And there were the things she’d never get to do … buildings she wouldn’t design.