Color of Blood(96)

The heat was already making him feel listless, and he debated the merits of walking all the way back to the road. He would need to wait until the sun advanced through its arc, since it was almost directly overhead. It was his only choice, really. Staying in the Cruiser for an extended time was not much of an option.

Judy had mentioned in passing that stranded outback motorists are warned not to leave their vehicles, but Dennis gathered that rule applied to drivers on a well-traveled track. It certainly wouldn’t apply to stupid Americans who had driven away from a well-traveled track. Dennis would have to walk back to the main track—it was as simple as that.

He turned the ignition one more time, but it would not catch. At least there was still a charge in the car battery. He lowered all four windows, rested his head on the headrest and closed his eyes. Earlier some flies had appeared out of nowhere and buzzed around his face. Now they settled on him, and he started a relentless and aggravating battle to chase them away from his nose, mouth, and ears.

After nearly an hour of waiting and chasing flies, he wondered whether he should cross the fence line and do what he originally intended to do: eavesdrop on the operation and take some pictures. He thought long and hard about it but could not seem to muster the energy or enthusiasm. The desert heat seemed to be extracting not only his energy but also his will.

Dennis spent the next thirty minutes alternately sitting and lying down in the stifling Cruiser, waiting for the sun to move lower so he could cross over the fence and walk toward the facility. At one point he walked over and stared into the compound. The land inside the wire looked just like the desert outside the wire. Even if he tried to find the operations buildings, there was no telling how far he would need to go.

Fatigued and frustrated, he shuffled the twenty feet or so back to the Cruiser, his head bent down, watching the red dust puff as he traversed the short distance.

That’s why he didn’t notice the man standing next to his car. When Dennis looked up, he barked in alarm, and had to reach out to steady himself against the rear fender.

“G’day,” the man said, smiling broadly.

Dennis had never seen a man with skin that black. The whites of his eyes and teeth contrasted sharply with his skin color. His thick, black, wavy hair fell over his ears. The man seemed to be in his twenties and was wearing nothing but a pair of maroon Adidas soccer shorts and a faded purple singlet. He was barefoot and carried a long stick that seemed to have some kind of spear point at the end. The man also had a small blond-brown dog with him. The dog did not seem to like Dennis—he maintained a steady, low-grade growl.

“You broke down?” the man asked, smiling broadly again.

“Um, yes. A couple of hours ago. Don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You a long way from the track.”

“I know,” Dennis said. “Got lost.”

“My name’s Jimmy.”

“I’m Dennis.”

Dennis realized he had left his pistol in the car under the driver’s seat, and he wondered if he could discreetly retrieve it. He had no idea what to expect from this man and was suspicious about how they had managed to intersect in the middle of the desert. Dennis started to walk to the open car door. The dog growled more aggressively.

“No worries about the dog,” Jimmy said, grinning. “He just don’t like whitefellas. What’s wrong with the Cruiser?”

“It just stopped.”

“Run out of petrol?”

“No, got plenty of that.”

“Battery dead?”

“No, the engine turns over.”

“Want me to take a look?”

“Sure; do you know something about cars?”

“A bit.”

The man went to the open hood, rested his long shaft against the car and proceeded to poke around, grabbing a wire here and there.

“Start the engine,” he said, so Dennis turned the ignition. The engine turned over strongly but never caught.

“Battery’s right,” Jimmy said, almost to himself.

Dennis reached down and grabbed the pistol under the seat and jammed it into the small of his back, covering it with his shirttail. He got out of the car and stood next to the man as he toyed with the engine. The dog kept up a steady, low growl.

Jimmy reached over and started to loosen the radiator cap.

“Stand back,” he warned as he gingerly pushed down and turned the cap.

Nothing happened.

He timorously flipped the cap off.

Looking down into the radiator Jimmy said, “You got no radiator fluid, mate. This bloody thing is dry.”

“It can’t be,” Dennis said. “I drove out here from Newton, and I didn’t see anything steaming over.”

“You got no fluid, mate,” Jimmy repeated. “Look for yourself.”

Dennis peered into the opening and could see the top-most piece of a metal grid, but not a drop of the tinted fluid.

“Where’d it go?” Dennis said.

“This is a new car,” Jimmy said, “shouldn’t have a leak. You must have run over something.”

“I don’t think so,” Dennis said.

Jimmy disappeared under the car, apparently oblivious to crawling around under the motor in the heat. Dennis stood off to the side while Jimmy’s dog studied him closely. The dog wisely moved into the shade of the car, and Dennis thought he’d do the same.