Color of Blood(95)

“Pardon me?” she asked.

“What?” he said.

“What kind of poetry book?”

“War poetry,” he said.

“That’s the type of poetry that Garder liked to read, yes? World War I poets.”

“Yes,” he said. “The poems are interesting.”

“Dennis Cunningham,” she said, “you are such a man of mystery.”

“I’m not as mysterious as you think,” he said.

She laughed and walked over to the small reading table, looking down at him.

“My flight is at three thirty,” she said. “I’m going to stay in the room until you return from your silly foray into the bush. I assume you’ll fly back with me and leave the rental at the airport?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not ready to say good-bye to my mad Yank quite yet,” she said. “You’ll be careful out there, won’t you?”

“Yes. I’m going to try to take some pictures if I can get close enough. That’s all.”

He pulled her close to him in the chair and rested the left side of his face on her stomach. She gently rubbed his bristly hair, the action reminding her faintly of doing the same thing to a younger Simon.

That night Judy fell asleep faster than Dennis. His mind wandered as he listened to her short, labored breathing.





Chapter 33


After refueling, he drove down the parched track, barely noticing the lunar-like landscape that had mesmerized him earlier. His mind wandered as he kept his foot pressed on the accelerator. He passed two vehicles: an ancient, rusting Land Rover, and later, a pickup truck that was traveling so fast it blinded him in the resulting storm of dust, pebbles, and fine red sand.

He was surprised how quickly he came to the corner of the fence that demarcated the off-limits area. This time, instead of continuing down to the entrance, he put the vehicle into four-wheel drive and turned left into the desert, following the barbed-wire fence line perpendicular to the road. He drove carefully, keeping the fence to his right, circumventing huge tufts of spinifex and forlorn, desiccated shrubs. He was determined to avoid creating a dust cloud that would give his position away. He planned to penetrate the fence line on foot, perhaps half a mile in, sleuthing his way closer to the operations buildings to get a clear view through binoculars.

It was unlikely, he reasoned, that with nearly a thousand acres on this god-forsaken outpost, they could guard every square inch of fence line. He had not been followed by the two agents at the pub the previous night; the view in his rear view mirror was clear from the start.

After twenty minutes of tortuous driving over and around small obstacles, Dennis saw a rectangular red warning light flash on the dashboard and he braked. He reached for the car’s manual in the glove box. As he did so, a second warning light in the shape of a thermometer came on.

“Shit,” he said.

The engine hiccupped violently and stopped.

***

Judy watched TV for a while and then read a newspaper. She entertained a glimmer of hope that Dennis would change his mind and return to the hotel early. She paced around the room and finally sat and leafed absently through a magazine. Stop worrying, she thought. Dennis seems to always land on his feet, so just relax.

Then she heard a man laughing outside her door.

“Judy, come on now. You were right,” he said, and he knocked twice.

She rushed to the door and yanked it open.

He held a bottle of cold champagne in his left hand, which is why she didn’t see what was in his right hand.

***

The vehicle reeked of burning metal and plastic. He stood outside in the heat. It felt like he was standing behind a jet engine with warm air swirling around him, burning his skin and causing him to gasp slightly. He squinted into the bleak landscape and felt a twinge of panic that trickled across his chest and settled in his abdomen.

The car manual stated the warning lights were for an overheated engine. He sat back behind the wheel and turned the ignition. The engine turned over endlessly but would not catch.

He wound down the windows, since the interior was heating up.

He sat for at least five minutes, staring at the fence line that stood ten yards away to his right. He could walk back to the main road. Then he would need to wait in the molten sun for a crazy outback driver to see him. There was no cell phone service, of course. He might be visited by the goons guarding the mining operation, which was a scenario he did not relish. Getting into one of those Suburbans was not a good idea.

Dennis walked around to the back of the Cruiser and opened the hatch. He was relieved to see the large containers of water and gasoline. There was the small yellow plastic outback survival toolkit Judy had taken out of her car. He opened it to find several cheap, forged tools, a roll of black electrical tape, two safety flares, a folded, silver thermal blanket and tire-patch kit.

He returned to the front seat and looked for the hood release, hearing it pop as he tugged on it. When he lifted the hood, he was forced to turn away from the light-gray, pungent smoke.

He had no idea what to look for, but in desperation, he fiddled with a few areas of the engine, eventually burning the tips of three fingers when he touched the engine manifold.

“Shit!” he yelled, blowing on his fingers.

He went around and sat back inside the car, taking a swig of water from a liter water bottle.