Force of Nature (Aaron Falk #2)(24)

It had taken Falk a long time to go through the bag and even longer to donate or otherwise dispose of the belongings inside. In the end, he’d been left with only the bag and three other items. Two photos and a separate large, worn envelope. The envelope was creased and tired around the edges and had never been sealed.

Now, Falk opened the top pocket of the backpack and pulled it out. The envelope was even more battered than he remembered. He spread the contents across the bed. Contours, gradients, shadings and symbols lay in front of him. Peaks and valleys and bushland and beachfront. Nature’s best, all there on paper.

As Falk’s fingers ran over the maps, he felt almost dizzy from the surge of familiarity. There were more than two dozen. Some were old, and some better used than others, their paper thin and well examined. His dad had corrected them, of course. He knew best. Thought he knew best, anyway. Erik Falk’s handwriting looped and curved across the routes of the state’s major hiking regions. Observations he’d made each time he’d tied up his boots, hoisted the bag on his back and left the city behind him with a grateful sigh.

It had been a very long time since Falk had looked at the pages. And he’d never been able to bring himself to examine them closely. He shuffled through the maps now until he found the one he was searching for: Giralang Ranges and the surrounds. It was an older one and was yellowed at the corners. The folds were fragile and fuzzy.

Falk took off his boots and lay back on the bed, letting his head sink into the pillow, just for a minute. His eyes felt heavy. It was much warmer inside than out. He opened the map at random, squinting against the light. The grey pencil marks had faded in places over time and the words blurred at the edges. Falk pulled the map closer to his face and felt the blunted ache of well-worn irritation. His dad’s handwriting had always been bloody impossible to read. He tried to focus.

Water spot. Campsite: unofficial. Blocked path.

Falk blinked again, for longer this time. The cabin was warm.

Short cut. Lookout point. Fallen tree.

Blink. The wind bayed outside, pressing itself against the glass of the window.

Not safe in winter. Take care.

An echoed warning.

Tread carefully. Danger here.

Falk closed his eyes.





Day 2: Friday Morning


It took longer than expected to pack up the campsite. The tents refused to fold quite as small as they had originally, and the zippers on their bags jammed and strained in protest.

Jill knew that her backpack could be no heavier than it had been the day before. She knew it, but as she swung it on her shoulders, she didn’t believe it. They were already behind schedule, but she let the others linger in the weak morning light, fiddling with straps and water bottles. She felt reluctant to leave the campsite, and suspected she wasn’t the only one. The other sites along the trail were smaller and less well established, she knew, but it wasn’t just that. There was something about leaving the safety of the start point for the unknown ahead that made her feel a little edgy.

Jill had kept half an eye on Alice while packing. The woman had barely spoken and had had to be asked twice for the tent pole bag. But she wasn’t ill, Jill was certain. And she wasn’t going to get permission to leave this trip early. Jill was certain of that as well.

She watched Alice gather up the empty wine bottles and bag of communal rubbish and hand them straight to Beth. No remorse about the morning’s outburst, apparently. Jill was debating whether to say something, but Beth simply took the rubbish and put it her backpack without comment. Jill let it slide. She’d learned how to pick her battles.

An hour late and all excuses exhausted, they at last started to walk. Alice soon pulled out ahead, with Bree clutching the map and trailing at her heels. Jill watched the backs of their heads and shifted her pack. She could feel the straps rubbing on her shoulders. The man in the shop had told her they were made from special breathable material for added comfort. The memory of that conversation infused Jill with a sense of deep and lasting betrayal.

At least the path was flat, but its uneven surface meant she had to watch her feet. She stumbled once, then again, nearly losing her balance this time. She felt a steadying hand grasp her arm.

‘Are you all right?’ Lauren said.

‘Yes. Thanks. I’m not used to the boots.’

‘Painful?’

‘A bit,’ she admitted.

‘Two layers of socks might help. A thin pair under a thick pair. Listen, Jill –’ Lauren’s voice dropped a notch lower. ‘I wanted to apologise.’

‘For what?’ She knew. Or perhaps she didn’t. When Jill thought about it, Lauren could be feeling guilty about a number of things.

‘The other week, at the briefing,’ Lauren said. ‘I mean, I’m sorry I wasn’t at the briefing. But Andrew said he could make the presentation alone and –’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry. I should have been there, I know. I’ve been under some pressure at home lately.’

Jill looked over at that. Pressure at home was one language she spoke.

‘Is it anything we can offer you some support for?’

‘No. Unfortunately. Thank you, though.’ Lauren kept staring straight ahead. She was very thin these days, Jill noticed now, the bones in her neck and wrists sliding against her skin.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’