Only Killers and Thieves(49)

And there really was nothing. The landscape stretched endlessly before them, a flat and uniform tundra of sunburned grasslands, broken scrub, the tufted tops of trees or the skeletal outlines of their remains, blackened by bushfire, withered by drought. The ranges squatting low on the horizon, shapeless and obscure: a day and a half riding and still they were no nearer. It would be days more before they got there, and nothing in between. No towns, no settlements: nothing between here and Perth, thousands of miles away on the western coast; nothing except wild bushland and the lonely wooden shack that served as a telegraph station in a place called Alice Springs. And pity the poor bastard who found himself posted there.

They rode on. Nine liquid shadows slipping over the rubbled ground. The soil different out here, desert soil, pebbled and sandy and corrugated by the wind, firebrand red. The heat incessant, engulfing them, choking them—sweat streamed down Tommy’s face and neck and suckered his clothing and boots to his skin. He took a long drink, rattled his flask, and guessed at only an inch or so left. He tightened the stopper and stowed the flask in his saddlebag, pushed it low, hoping to keep the water cool, and as he did so felt the rustle of paper down there. A packet of some kind—he fished it out and opened it and found a handful of Mrs. Sullivan’s lemon lollies inside. He ached just to look at them. A little moan escaped. She must have smuggled the packet into his bag herself. Tommy swelled at the thought of her doing that. He wasn’t far from tears.

He checked along the line in front of him, then over his shoulder at Locke. No one was paying him any mind. He pried a lolly from the clump, popped it in his mouth. Sticky and dry at first, but as he worked it the sweet lemon flavor began dribbling into his parched throat and he closed his eyes in bliss. He hid the packet in his saddlebag, and for the briefest moment he was not in that desert convoy anymore, his world reduced to tongue and tooth and lolly and throat, feeling every movement, savoring every taste, mourning the speed with which it shrank and then evaporated and somehow left him even thirstier still.

When Billy and Sullivan finally parted, Sullivan riding on ahead to talk to Noone, passing the troopers without acknowledgment, oblivious to their glares, Billy fell back to join Tommy and said casually, not looking across, “Hot, ain’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wind’s picking up n’all.”

“Yup,” Tommy said.

Now Billy looked at him. “What’s got into you?”

“You need me to tell you?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Alright,” Tommy said. “What was all that about?”

“All what?”

“You and him. You’d think you two were the ones that’s kin.”

Billy blew out dismissively. “We was only talking. Don’t be such a girl.”

“Talking about what?”

“This—what else?”

“What about it exactly?”

“Nothing exactly.”

“He tell you about that lake of his, did he?”

“Not you and that bloody lake again.”

“He dams it, you know. Keeps most of the water for himself. That’s how come our creek gets so low in the dry. Peacocking, they call it. Even got its own word.”

Billy scowled at him. “Where’d you get all this from?”

“Noone. Last night. Reckoned Daddy would have known about it too.”

“Well, there you go. There ain’t no way.”

“He seemed sure enough.”

“That bloke’s crazier than a bag of snakes, Tommy. You seen him last night with Locke. Lucky he didn’t get his head shot off.”

“Locke would never have dared.”

“Well, you can’t trust him anyway. John’s already said. He likes causing trouble, that’s all. Does it for fun.”

“Says Sullivan.”

“Yeah, says him.” Both were quiet a moment, then Billy said, “Tell you what, though, wouldn’t mind them finding us a lake out here sometime soon.”

Tommy snorted a quick laugh. “Bloody oath.”

“You got much left?”

“Hardly any. You?”

“Same. I’ve not seen them blacks take theirs out once.”

“They don’t eat neither, it’s not normal.”

“Nothing about them’s normal, Tommy. They give me the jips, every one.”

“Noone said that young one had his family killed by whites.”

Billy looked at him doubtfully, then sniffed and said, “Probably deserved it.”

“You reckon so?”

“Aye, I do. No one gets killed without a reason. Even blacks.”

They both fell silent. Tommy said, “Camels don’t need much water.”

“Camels? What you talking about camels for?”

“It’s true. A camel goes weeks without drinking. They’re made for all this. Maybe some natives are built the same.”

Billy broke into a laugh. He shook his head. “A black and a camel ain’t nothing alike.”

“I’m not saying they’re alike, just that there might be a reason why—”

“They don’t even have bloody humps!”

Billy was laughing fully now. The bearded trooper looked at them, and Billy bit his tongue until he’d turned back around, then muffled his laughter with a hand. “Camels, Tommy!” he whispered, and Tommy briefly smiled. Smiling more at the fact that they were laughing together than anything either had said.