The Lost Man(6)

By unspoken agreement, Bub parked at the bottom and they walked up. At the top, the three of them stood beside Cameron’s car as the air current snatched at their clothes.

Nathan walked around the four-wheel drive and for the second time that day felt something shift and tilt off-centre. The exterior was completely unremarkable. It was dirty and stone-chipped, but he could see nothing wrong with it. He felt an unpleasant cool prickle at the base of his neck.

Nothing was wrong, and that in itself felt very wrong indeed. Nathan had expected, he realised, at the very least to find the car bogged, or rolled, or smashed into a rock or crumpled into a jagged metal ball. He had expected hissing steam or leaking oil or flames, or for the bonnet to be propped open, or all four tyres to be deflated rubber sacks. Nathan wasn’t sure what, but he had expected something. Something more than this, at least. Something like an explanation.

He crouched and checked the wheels. Four good tyres stood firm on solid rock. He opened the bonnet and ran his hands over the key components. Nothing out of place, as far as he could see. Through the window, the gauges on the dashboard indicated both fuel tanks – primary and reserve – were full or close to. Nathan heard a sound and looked up to see Bub opening the rear doors of the Land Cruiser. He and Xander were both staring into the large haulage area with strange expressions on their faces. Nathan walked around and joined them.

The vehicle was fully stocked. Litres of fresh water sloshed gently in sealed bottles next to cans filled with tuna and beans. A good collection. Enough to keep a man alive for a week or more. Nathan used one finger to open the mini fridge that could be hooked up to the car’s power. More filled water bottles were stacked inside, along with wrapped sandwiches now curling at the edges, and a six-pack of mid-strength beer. There was other stuff too. Extra fuel in a jerry can, two spare tyres strapped down, a shovel, a first aid kit. In short: the usual. Nathan knew he could have opened his own vehicle and found exactly the same. Bub’s too, he guessed. A basic survival kit for life in the harshest climate in Australia. Don’t leave home without it.

‘His keys are here.’

Xander was peering into the open driver’s door and Nathan joined him. Side by side, their shoulders were the same height now, he noticed vaguely.

A light coat of red dust had floated in and settled on every surface. Beneath the veneer, Nathan could see the keys clipped to a black lanyard, which was neatly coiled into a loop and placed on the car seat.

That was a little unusual, a small voice whispered. Not so much leaving the keys in the car. Nathan didn’t know anyone in the whole district who did anything else. He could picture his own keys now, tossed into the footwell of his car back at the gravesite. Bub’s were dangling from the indicator lever in the car at the bottom of the slope. Nathan couldn’t remember ever in his life seeing Cameron remove car keys from a vehicle. He also couldn’t remember ever seeing him coil and place them quite so precisely.

‘Maybe he broke down?’ Bub sounded unconvinced.

Nathan didn’t reply. He looked at those keys and all of a sudden, his hand was reaching out.

‘Dad, no, we shouldn’t touch –’

He ignored Xander, the movement of his arm sending delicate dust patterns swirling into the air. As his hand closed around the keys, Nathan knew with cold certainty what would happen next.

He climbed into the seat, put the key in the ignition and turned it. The movement was smooth and the metal slid easily. He felt the vibrations as the engine started with a roar, then settled to a rumble. It sounded loud in the silence.

Nathan shot a look at Xander, but his son wasn’t watching him anymore. Instead, he was gazing beyond the car and into the distance. He was shielding his eyes and frowning. Nathan turned to look himself. Far away, a single tight cloud of dust was moving in the south. Someone was coming.





Chapter 3



Nathan stood beside the stockman’s grave for the second time that day and watched as the new vehicle approached. It slowed as it drew near.

It was a four-wheel drive with industrial tyres and a bullbar at the front, the same as almost every other car in the area, but this one had a stretcher in the back. Reflective ambulance branding on the front and sides caught the sun.

Nathan, Bub and Xander had remained on top of the outcrop next to Cameron’s Land Cruiser until the dust haze from the south took shape. Then, wordlessly, they had walked down the rise and driven back to the graveside to wait.

For the first time all morning, Nathan felt a stirring of relief as the ambulance came to a stop and the nurse raised his hand. Some help, at last.

Steve Fitzgerald was a wiry man in his early fifties who occasionally shared stories of his tours with the Red Cross. He spent half his year in Afghanistan, Syria, Rwanda, wherever, and the other half on call in a single-staffed medical clinic in outback Balamara. He enjoyed a challenge, he’d once said, which struck Nathan as an understatement. Steve emerged from the ambulance with a police officer Nathan had never seen before.

‘Where’s Glenn?’ Nathan said immediately, and the cop frowned.

Steve didn’t answer straight away. He took in the grave and the tarp and shook his head.

‘Jesus. Poor Cameron.’ He crouched down but didn’t touch anything. ‘Glenn’s been stuck out at Haddon Corner since yesterday. Got a family with young kids bogged their hire car in the sand, but weren’t sure where they were. He’s found them now, but won’t get out here until tomorrow.’