Heart of the Outback (27 page)

This is no good, she told herself. Get a grip, for God’s sake. Show some intestinal fortitude. Her body came to an abrupt halt. Oh, yes, that would get her a long way, she derided. She wasn’t stupid. She was stranded. No water and no transport and for all she knew, no-one knew where she was.

She slowly sank to her knees, closed her eyes and bowed her head.

Sergeant Steve Parrish enjoyed fossicking despite the fact that most of the people in the Isa had told him there were few precious gems to be found loose on the ground. The experts hadn’t been one hundred per cent right, experts rarely were, he’d found. He had discovered traces of ribbon stone and jasper and a shard or two of crystalline quartz. Besides, since the day he’d found some fine specimens which had checked out to be trilobite fossils his primary interest had become fossilised rocks. Specimens were in demand at tourist shops along the Queensland coastline. A nice sideline hobby for him too.

However, when he went out he didn’t really care whether he found anything or not. His main enjoyment came from the activity of stuffing his saddlebags with supplies and taking off on his horse for a few days
camping, something he only did in winter because it wasn’t too hot. Curiously, he had never gone camping when he’d lived in Sydney but up here he loved it and had been doing so on his days off ever since he’d come to the Isa. His sister would have laughed herself silly at him, “the scourge of Redfern” as he’d been known as a teenager, enjoying such mundane tasks. He had a map of the district which he’d divided into grids and he was systematically camping in each one, spending a few days looking around and then moving onto another grid the next trip.

Yesterday he had camped beside a shallow creek that had a few millimetres of water flowing in it, enough for cooking and washing. After breakfast he’d struck off to the east, pottering about in his usual fashion. Steve acknowledged that some folks thought it a strange hobby for a copper. He didn’t give a damn what they thought. One day, he’d bring Francey out, if she’d come with him. Thinking about her he smiled as he ambled along, kicking over stones, sometimes dropping to his haunches to turn one over and dig with his small pick amongst the debris.

Much later in the day he turned back towards the creek, deciding to follow its trail back to camp. Creek beds were often a good place to find fossilised stones, if one had the patience to dig for them. Today hadn’t been a good day though and his specimen bag was empty. As he returned to camp something caught his eye. His eyebrows shot up in amazement as he looked up from the creek’s bank to find, not only his own horse hobbled so it wouldn’t stray, but a second, saddleless horse with the reins trailing on the ground.

Vaulting up the bank he then slowed his approach so he wouldn’t spook the other horse. He picked up the reins and his hands moved towards the bridle, looking for some mark of ownership. On the metal part of the bridle was the word “Astra”. And sure enough, on the mare’s left rump was the brand MD. Murrundi Downs. Bloody odd! Clicking his tongue, he led the horse to the creek and let it drink its fill, all the while studying it.

“You’re a long way from home, girl,” he said as he patted her muzzle. She nickered in agreement and nuzzled his hand. He’d better find out what she was doing wandering so far from the station. Maybe one of the stockmen had had an accident.

He took his mobile phone out of his supply bag and patched a call through to the Isa police station, got Murrundi’s number and dialled again.

“Shellie?”

“Who’s that?”

“Steve Parrish. I’m out in the bush, camped on Browns Creek. I’ve come across a Murrundi horse, no saddle. Anyone missing?”

“Oh, Steve, thank God. That must be Astra. Things are in a mess here. Mike and the boys are out looking for Francey.”

Steve straightened. “Francey. Shellie, you’d better explain.”

“She and Natalie went for a ride yesterday afternoon, off the property down south-west. Natalie’s horse bolted and by the time she’d got Pharaoh under control and returned to where Francey was, there was no trace of her. They’ve been looking for her since first light.”

Steve stroked his chin. “You said south-west?”

“Natalie said they went south-west.”

“Have you got the helicopter out looking?”

“Can’t. Les and CJ are away. I’ve spoken to them and they’re on their way back now. Les won’t be able to get the helicopter up until mid to late afternoon.”

“Okay. Look, I’ll start a search in this area. Keep me posted through the police station, will you?”

“Of course. As soon as we find anything, I mean, Francey, we’ll let you know.”

His brown eyes looked at the foothills around him, the red earth, the odd grouping of spindly gums and bluebush. Damn. Francey lost, out here. Jesus Christ. This was killer country. His jawbone tightened until it ached. He remembered one of the first cases he’d been on after arriving in the Isa. There had been an all-out search for a woman lost in the bush. Her off-road vehicle had run out of petrol but she hadn’t stayed with it. She’d thought she could walk and find someone. They had found her two days later, dead from heat exhaustion.

Unbidden into his thoughts came the image of Francey lying face down on the red earth, not breathing. A wave of fear such as he’d never known before surged through him. Francey wasn’t used to the bush, she wouldn’t know how to survive out here …

Steve knew he was no tracker, not like Billy Wontow, but because there’d been recent rain the ground might be soft enough for him to find and follow Astra’s trail. Without further ado and with an economy of movements he packed up. Five minutes later, repacked, his horse saddled and Astra’s reins tied to his saddlebag, he was ready to go.

Astra’s trail led to the east, slightly south. Walking for twenty to thirty metres he found Astra’s track. Mounting his horse and with eyes peeled on the trail he moved forward through the yellow grass and mulga. As Steve continued to follow Astra’s trail he saw that the horse, probably thirsty, had followed the smell of water to the creek. Ahead, in the distance, he saw that he was heading towards an area known to have a small, narrow ravine and it was definitely east. Definitely.

H
ow long Francey sat in a depressed state she declined to put into a time frame. As the sun warmed her head and the top of her shoulders she looked up. Clouds were splitting to allow the sun and a bright blue sky to show through. Somehow, beginning to feel warm made things better, and with it came a wellspring of hope.

She couldn’t just sit idle and wait. She had to do something, anything.

A fire.

The hope grew as she thought the possibility through. Smoke from a fire would be visible many kilometres away, and the fire would warm her and keep the fear away. But she had no matches! She sighed pensively but her mind was set, focused. She glanced around the floor of the ravine and saw plenty of fallen twigs and tree branches, dried grass and dead leaves. All the necessary components for a fire
except that she needed a match to ignite them. She walked back up the rise to where the saddle and saddlebags sat. For two minutes she rummaged through the bags, hopeful of finding a box of matches. No such luck. Her eyes came to rest on one of her cameras. Lenses. Glass. Magnified light equals a spark equals ignition! Concentrated heat from the sun on a certain spot could make a spark and start a fire. Yes! She grinned. Her shoulders squared confidently. She could do it. In movies it happened often enough and didn’t the actor always make it look simple?

But she was no girl scout. The grin spread a little wider across her face, her first smile since sunset yesterday. She would give it a damned good try.

It took an hour to gather materials and arrange the signal fire on the site where Natalie had boiled the billy. Once she had done that, she put dried gum leaves with pieces of dried grass on top of a wide branch as she remembered seeing done in the movie
Quest for Fire
, but instead of using friction — her hands and a pointed stick to create the spark — the camera lens would be her medium. However she wasn’t sure whether the sun was strong enough yet to create sufficient heat to strike a spark, and after half an hour her arms and shoulders ached from holding the lens tautly in position.

Nothing happened. No spark, no puff of smoke and then
voilà
, fire.

Patience had never been Francey’s strong point — she was too active a person. But after her sorties to find wood, and building the fire up, the lack of water and food had begun to weaken her constitution. And
perversely, all she could think of as she waited was liquid. Various types of liquid. Ice cold water, ice blocks. White wine with the condensation dripping down the outside of the glass; thin soup; Coca Cola. Images of CJ’s pool, the spa and the Pacific Ocean floated before her glazed eyes to add to her torment.

Her throat was parched and felt raw. Swallowing had become painful. She had no spittle, not a drop of moisture inside her mouth. Fatalistically, she knew that if she had to spend another day without liquid she’d probably lapse into delirium. Then it wouldn’t matter about the fire. It wouldn’t matter about anything.

Her eyelids drooped, then closed and her thoughts drifted to Steve. They had a date this Friday night. It would be a relief to cry but even her tear ducts had dried up. She missed him. And she wanted him. Yes, she could admit it, now.
She wanted him
— the sudden depth of her feeling in this regard left her breathless. Then, curiously, as she hovered in a semiconscious state, a line of people marched before her closed lids. Her parents, Meredith, whose baby was almost due. CJ and the people at Murrundi. She’d come to think of them as her friends. And there were the things she’d never get to do … buildings she wouldn’t design.

Her eyelids flickered and opened and she stared at the camera lens. Light, damn you! Anger and frustration welled up inside her. She bent close to the grass and saw the barest wisp of smoke. Her hand shook and a frown wrinkled her brow. Had she wanted to see it so much that she’d imagined it? Maybe she had. Her heartbeat quickened. She blew
gently on the grass. A puff of smoke rose timidly, and finally a single spark. She fed more grass, continuing to blow until the first flame caught and she heard a faint fizzling.

She nurtured the embryonic flame as if it were a precious, mysterious deity, willing it to grow into a signal fire.

The silence from his mobile phone attached to his belt gave Steve an ominous feeling as he followed Astra’s trail. No phone call meant Francey hadn’t been found, yet. The trail headed south-east from the creek and though the horse had rambled, grazing at night as it made its way towards water, the general direction was clear. South-east, not west. In Steve’s opinion, it was little wonder he hadn’t heard from Murrundi, they were searching in the wrong quadrant. Another half an hour and he’d call in, let them know the direction of the horse’s trail and his position.

Ahead of him stood low foothills and the rocky outcrop simply known as the ravine. He had heard stories in town that a tribe of Aboriginals once lived there, and he knew about the cave paintings too, but hadn’t been inclined to visit the place. That’s where Astra’s trail was leading.

As he rode his thoughts took him back to the first time he’d ventured out in the bush alone. He’d been nervous, he remembered that. After all it was an alien environment to a city person, even one who’d had a passing acquaintance with country life. Christ, Francey would be scared witless by now.

A couple of kilometres closer he thought he saw something. Squinting, then staring hard he made out
a wisp of smoke rising out of the ravine, clearly visible against the blue sky. He dug his heels into his horses flanks and urged it into a full gallop.

Have to find more wood for the fire. Francey looked at the pile of branches she’d gathered. She blinked back the weariness and shook her head. It wasn’t enough to last all night. She rubbed her lips together, praying for a little moisture. None. A wave of dizziness worked its way down her body, through muscles that sagged with fatigue. She dropped the branch haphazardly onto the pile and jerked upwards. Can’t stop, got to find more, she thought.

Steve saw her before she saw him. He reined in, bringing his horse and Astra to a steady lope. And for the first time in his life he said a prayer of thanks to a God he’d never had much time for. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed it. Francey was alive.

He took the scene in. She had managed to get a fire going! A trail of smoke rose steadily towards the sky. She was gathering more supplies but the effort of doing so had cost her. He watched her stagger as she turned away from the fire to search for more fuel. Her beige sweater and her jeans were streaked with dirt, and her dark hair was in a tangle. A lopsided smile wreathed his angular features. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Seeing her struggling to stay on her feet clarified a lot for him, both in his mind and more importantly in his heart. As he’d followed Astra’s trail across the plain his one all-encompassing thought had been of Francey and how when he found her he wouldn’t let her go. Despite his earlier reservations he now
believed she was his present and his future. He loved her, he decided. It was as simple as that.

“Francey.”

Her slender length jerked upright and a frown crept across her forehead marring its smoothness. She ran a dry tongue around even drier lips and tried to concentrate but for hours all her energies had been trained on one task, finding more fuel to burn. She had to. But now … Her head tilted to one side, listening. Had she heard a voice? Slowly, hardly daring to hope and trying to control the sudden trembling, she twisted around.

The smoke from the fire partially obscured what she was trying to see but she thought she could make out a horse and rider standing about two metres away. She pressed her fingers against her eyes and looked again. Still there. Maybe it was … “Natalie”? she croaked, her throat so dry she could barely articulate the word.

Unlooping the water canteen from around the pommel of his saddle, Steve slid from the horse and ran towards her. He saw her eyes open wide in amazement as she recognised him and then, in an instant, the remaining strength went out of her. She began to slip towards the ground but he managed to catch her as her knees made contact with the earth.