Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(20)

“You have my word it will not.”

“Well. When you put it that way.” That smile again, and Falk felt a rush of something he could only describe as relief. She put her phone back in her coat pocket. They turned together toward the bar, and the back of her hand touched his.

Stay.





7


The surface of the reservoir lay still as glass as Falk and Raco approached. They had been walking for no more than about ten minutes, first in single file along the narrow track leading down from the festival site, then side by side when it widened. From the old parallel rut marks carved in the dirt, this stretch had clearly once been accessible to vehicles. Now, according to the signs Falk could see, it was walkers only.

They slowed, as up ahead the track opened out even further, incorporating a small ledge of earth and rock bulging out from the main trail. A waist-height wooden fence guarded the edge. The body of water lay far below.

Raco stepped off the main track, and Falk followed him to the guardrail, testing it with his palms before he put any real weight on it. It certainly felt sturdy enough.

The sun had set now, and above them, a slim crescent moon hung silver and pale against the rapidly darkening sky. Below, the reservoir followed the natural pattern of the land. Even in the gloom Falk could see it stretching out, vast and open in its center, then twisting and curving to fill the turns and gullies that formed the banks. It was big. Bigger than he’d remembered. The opposite bank was just visible across the swath of water, but he couldn’t see the westernmost edge, or the dam that lay somewhere to the east. The festival grounds felt far behind them, but Falk could hear a distant low thrum of music and crowd noise undercutting the stillness.

Testing the wooden safety barrier once more—still solid—Falk leaned over and looked down. To the left and right, the rocky embankment mostly formed a medium-to-steep slope from the hiking track down to the water’s edge. Up here at the ledge, though, it fell away abruptly in a sharp drop.

“How far’s the fall?” Falk asked.

“Depends on the water level.” Raco threw a small stone over the railing. They watched it tumble, hitting the surface and sinking without sound. The water gently rippled. “But last year it was twenty-three meters.”

“Fair way,” Falk said as they both stared down. “The water’s so—”

A sudden blast of music sliced through the air behind them, and Falk and Raco turned in unison. The sound was far closer and louder than anything drifting from the festival, pumping out from somewhere in the dense bushland that rose on the far side of the track. Through the music, Falk caught a burst of girls’ laughter and the sharp clink of bottles in a bag. A young male voice followed, the words deep and indistinguishable. The voice was lost as the music was cranked up another notch.

“They’ve started early this year.” Raco checked his watch.

“That’s the famous opening night party, is it?” Falk scanned the tree line again. The bushland was thick and dark. He could see nothing. He wouldn’t know anyone was up there if not for the noise.

“Yeah. One of our town’s oldest and proudest traditions,” Raco said. “I’m only half joking—it’s been going on since I was a kid. Before that, even. Probably about as long as the festival’s been running, realistically.”

“This is where Zara was headed last year?” Falk knew they weren’t far from the festival in terms of distance, but the dense bushland and the relative stillness of the water made it feel very isolated. “Charlie was okay with that?”

“Yeah, well, he kind of had to be. He was up there himself every year back in the day, we all were. Me. Kim, as well. Everyone, really.” Raco listened to the throb of music and laughter for a minute. “It’s not as bad as it sounds from down here. It’s mostly kids from the high school, some of their mates back from uni for the break. A few regular tourist kids used to come, too. Let off some steam, catch up over a few more drinks than we should while the adults were busy with the festival.”

“So will Sergeant Dwyer be along at some point to break it up?”

“Yeah, earlier each year, from what I hear,” Raco said. “He hates it, but the rest of us are all suckers for nostalgia. We all did it, and it never got broken up when I was that age, but—” He looked a little misty-eyed at the memory. “My dad was the sergeant then, so maybe he went easy on us.”

Falk scoured the tree line once more. He could still find no break in the growth.

“Can they see us from up there?”

Raco rubbed his chin. “Depends. Short answer: yes, if they want to. You maybe can’t tell in this light, but there’s a small gap in the trees, somewhere around—” He pointed up, slowly moving his finger along—paused—backtracked, then dropped his hand. “Yeah, well. Somewhere, anyway.”

“What’s the longer answer?”

“They can see down, but it doesn’t necessarily mean any of them are actually looking. There’s a clearing up there, set back from the tree break. That’s where all the action happens. Or used to, anyway. Unless getting drunk and trying to talk to girls has changed massively since my day—and I dunno, look, maybe it has—but that’s where we used to hang out. No one was too bothered about checking out a view they’d grown up with.”