Death is Forever (19 page)

Cole and Erin found the Great Northern Highway in late afternoon, unsure whether they were ahead of or behind their pursuer. Cole ran the Rover up to its top speed and held it there. After the rough, unpaved spur road, the Great Northern’s sealed surface seemed eerily quiet, almost unreal, no hissing of grit pelting over the frame and spinning away from the tires in red turmoil.

The land was flat again. Pale-barked baoboabs loomed above the much smaller gums like goblins rising from a shallow, dusty, light-green sea. The highway’s single lane had more traffic than the Gibb River Road. They met an oncoming vehicle about every twenty minutes. Most of the traffic was cars or small trucks. Occasionally a diesel hauling three freight trailers behind would come howling down on the Rover.

The first time Erin saw one coming, she made a sound of disbelief. “What in God’s name is that?”

“A roadtrain.”

“A roadtrain,” she said. “I repeat. What in God’s name is that?”

“A truck hauling three trailers.” He lifted his foot from the accelerator, bringing the Rover down to sixty miles an hour.

“How big is it all together?”

“Can’t tell head on. Some of the rigs are a hundred feet long.”

For a minute Erin was silent. The roadtrain hurtled closer and closer, filling the single-lane road to both edges, sending clouds of grit boiling up from the dirt shoulder on either side. The monster was going as fast as the Rover.

“There isn’t enough room for both of us,” she said.

“No worries, love,” he said, smiling as he used the common Aussie reassurance. “There’s plenty of verge.”

With that he whipped the Rover to the left, putting two wheels off the road into the dirt. The roadtrain did the same with its left-hand wheels. The vehicles hurtled past each other. The Rover bucked and rattled with the force of the much larger roadtrain’s passage.

The dust had barely settled when sunset came in a swift, slanting cataract of light that turned clouds from cream to crimson to ink with startling suddenness. No sooner had Erin started to admire the colors than they vanished.

Cole flipped on the headlights, then threw a second switch on the dashboard. A powerful spotlight mounted above the windshield cut a wide swath through the darkness ahead, reaching out half again as far as the headlights.

“Something big on the right,” she said, catching a flash of light that could only come from the reflective pupil of an animal’s eye. “A cow?”

“Bloody stupid animals,” he muttered, braking hard and simultaneously turning off the overhead spotlight. “May they all go to those great Golden Arches in the sky.”

“As in hamburgers?”

He grunted, slid the Rover past the cow in a shower of dirt, and drove on, picking up the speed he’d lost. He drove hard and fast, but he never outran his lights, for at dusk Kimberley shorthorns began wandering out from the bush’s thin shade to graze along the road’s edge, where water from the blacktop ran off to create relatively lush feed.

As it grew darker, spotting shadows looming at the edges of the Rover’s headlights became a kind of adrenaline-filled game that distracted Erin and Cole from the clinging heat that hung on far longer than sunlight had. Overhead a carpet of stars condensed. The sky was as alien as the land had been. Except for the Southern Cross, the stars were evenly spaced and of the same brightness.

Time and again Cole braked, reached up to turn off the spotlight, and cut the headlights down to low. Dense shadows moved slowly across the road ahead. When one of the cows turned toward them, its eyes flashed eerily in the light.

“Why do you turn down the lights?” she asked finally.

“It blinds the cattle. They freeze if they’re on the road, and if they’re not, they’re as likely to jump toward the light as away from it. I stay off the horn, too. It panics them, and a panicked cow will run right into a car.”

Then, although she had promised herself she wouldn’t, she heard herself asking, “Any lights behind us?”

“No.”

“Could he be running without lights?”

Cole smiled coldly. “I hope so. That little Tojo he was driving doesn’t weigh much more than a cow.”

In the darkness ahead, what at first had seemed an extension of the star-packed southern sky resolved into a cluster of artificial lights. They were the first fixed lights Erin had seen on the landscape since leaving Derby behind.

“Fitzroy Crossing?” she asked.

“Nothing else is out here.”

Fitzroy Crossing was the place where the Great Northern Highway’s single lane crossed the Fitzroy River. That, and year-round water trapped in the huge billabongs gouged out by floodwaters, supported a town of a few hundred whites, a varying population of Aborigines, and uncounted crocodiles.

Cole drove into a ramshackle service station, shut off the engine, and said as he got out, “Stay in the car. If you see anything that makes you nervous, hit the horn. The shotgun is under my seat.”

“I’m a lousy shot.”

His teeth flashed whitely. “Doesn’t matter. The barrels are just long enough to be legal and just right for close work against superior odds. The load is double-aught buckshot. Just point, pull the trigger, and watch the odds improve.”

Without a word she reached under the seat and put the shotgun across her lap.

He filled the gas tank and the spare fuel cans that had been depleted by high-speed driving, added oil and water, checked various cables, hoses, and reservoirs, and finally went inside to pay.

She kept looking around but saw no one except an Aborigine with grizzled hair on top, thickly calloused feet on bottom, and a freeform castle of Black Swann beer cans piled to one side.

When Cole emerged from the combination grocery store, café, and bar, he was carrying a stack of sandwiches and lukewarm soft drinks from an overmatched refrigerator. He stopped for a moment, exchanged a few words with the Black Swann castle builder, left a sandwich, and came back to the Rover.

Moments later they were on the road again. She had the distinct feeling he was glad to be out in the darkness once more.

“There’s a roadside park thirty klicks north,” he said. “We can use the picnic tables as cots, if nobody beats us to them. Or we can push on to the station.”

“Which is safer?”

He shrugged. “Little white Japanese vehicles are common here. The town is full of them. If our bird dog got smart and cut across the Tunnel Creek road instead of turning around and going over his backtrail to catch us, he’s probably ahead of us. He’ll assume we’re going to push for Abe’s station, where we have help. It’s damned easy to set up an ambush at night out in the bush.”

“I’ve always wanted to sleep on a picnic table.”

He laughed softly. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got a tarp and sleeping bags in back. We’ll hollow out a place in the sand and sleep like babies.”

They saw no other traffic until ten minutes later, when headlights flashed into life about a half mile ahead. The height and number of the lights told Cole that the oncoming vehicle was a roadtrain. The headlights of the rig were a white blaze. Its searchlight reached out toward the Rover like an accusing finger.

Automatically he lifted his foot from the accelerator and began checking the shadows at the edge of the spotlight with unusual care, seeking the eerie flash of animal eyes. Erin tried to look away from the oncoming lights and concentrate on checking the shoulder for range cows, but the cone of brilliant light nearly blinded her.

The distance between the two vehicles closed rapidly. Cole grunted and switched off the Rover’s spotlight.

The roadtrain didn’t return the courtesy. It raced toward them, growing bigger and more blinding by the instant.

“Christ, must be a million candlepower on that bastard,” Cole muttered. “He could jacklight deer on Jupiter.”

Angrily he lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the blinding glare. At the same time he let the Rover drift farther out onto the shoulder, giving the oncoming vehicle most of the pavement. The roadtrain gave way as well but didn’t slow at all. It bore down on them like a runaway freight train.

“Is he forgetful or just rude?” she asked as she slapped the spotlight switch on and off in an unsubtle reminder.

Two hundred yards away the huge, dazzling spotlight flicked off.

“About time, you stupid son of a bitch,” Cole said.

No sooner had their eyes begun to adjust than the huge spotlight exploded into life again. Its brilliant blue-white beam pinned the Rover’s windshield as the huge roadtrain roared straight toward them, no room to swerve, no place to hide, and the light like a knife in Cole’s eyes. Blindly he yanked the wheel hard left, sending the Rover careening wildly over the savannah, dodging chest-high termite mounds and splintering small gums on the bull bar.

After a few hundred yards the Rover clipped a big termite mound, went sideways, caromed off a swollen boab trunk, climbed a smaller termite mound, and almost rolled over. The front wheels cleared the mound before the Rover stopped moving and hung canted, off center, helpless, its engine racing.

During the final moments of the wild ride, Cole’s head slammed against the side window. For an instant he sat stunned. Then he killed the lights out of reflex and shook his head roughly, trying to focus. Images came in twos and fours. He shook his head again. It didn’t help.

There was a screaming from the highway as the roadtrain’s brakes locked up and burned rubber.

“Erin?” he asked hoarsely. “Are you all right, honey?”

“Shaken,” she said, her voice ragged, “but nothing permanent.”

“Take the shotgun and run into the bush.”

“But—”

“Do it!”

Shotgun in hand, she opened her door and scrambled out into the dark. Instead of following orders, she ran around to his side of the Rover and levered the door open.

“I said—” he began.

“I’m not leaving you like a staked goat!” she cried over the sound of the road train’s howling brakes. “Get out!”

He rolled out of the seat, found his feet, and staggered forward. She caught him and levered him upright with her shoulder. As soon as he was standing he broke into a ragged run, depending on her to guide him through the multiple images of night.

After a few moments, four became two and then, sometimes, one. His stride lengthened. In the back of his mind, he heard the roadtrain’s brakes shrieking and rumbling, then an ominous silence as the huge mass finally ground to a stop.

A powerful spotlight began sawing back and forth through the bush like a white sword. It was off to their left, but the next sweep would catch both the Rover and them.

Without warning Cole yanked Erin off her feet, pulled her down behind a termite mound and completely covered her with his body, praying that his dusty khaki clothes would provide adequate camouflage for both of them.

Then he realized what he had done—dragged her down and overpowered her just as Hans once had.

Facedown in the dirt, Erin fought for breath, but she didn’t panic, telling herself over and over again that it was Cole who was pinning her down, Cole who had never hurt her, Cole who had fought for her when she’d been helpless. Cole had never used his strength to humiliate, hurt, or violate her. He’d brought her pleasure, not pain, a wild sharing of bodies that enhanced rather than destroyed all that was human in her.

As her body relaxed, he let out a long breath and spoke in a soft, low voice. “Don’t move. Don’t look up. Your eyes catch light just like any other animal. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Very gently he brushed his lips over her cheek and whispered, “You’re quite a woman. As brave as your photos. Now I want you to be as smart. No matter what happens, stay put. I’d hate to kill you by mistake. Can I count on you not moving?”

“Yes.”

She felt his weight slide slowly from her. The forgotten shotgun was eased from her grip. There was the brush of skin against skin, a whisper of cloth against spinifex….

Then silence.

Cole belly-crawled away while the spotlight swept the night. An edge of the light touched the Rover, rushed by, then returned, pinning the vehicle in a tunnel of blazing white light. The Rover looked like some primeval outback beast perched on its haunches with its nose pointed into the air. Carefully not looking at the light, Cole crawled closer, knowing that the roadtrain assassin would have to get out to check his handiwork.

When the searchlight swept toward Cole, he closed his eyes completely to protect his night vision and prevent any flash of his own eyes giving away his position. The searchlight swept on, restoring darkness beyond his closed eyelids. He opened his eyes. After several minutes he saw a shadow flicker off to his left in the pale moonlight. It could have been simply a trick of his eyes, which were still giving him double images.

And it could have been a man.

Cole froze, then turned his head very, very slowly. Nothing moved, yet he was certain someone was out there. The man was a creature of the outback, sliding from shadow to shadow, cover to cover, moving with the silence and assurance of a king mulga.

Cole blinked his eyes, trying to clear them of extra images.

The assassin disappeared in shadows, then reemerged a moment later, closer to the Rover but too far for any kind of accuracy with buckshot. Night shooting was tricky at best. A short-barreled gun and a head that was ringing like a savagely struck bell weren’t helping Cole at all.

Suddenly the man was silhouetted against the Rover’s window. Cole came to his feet in a silent rush, threw the shotgun to his shoulder, and fired in one smooth motion. A tongue of orange-white flame bloomed in the night. The blast covered the metallic sound of the pump gun’s action. He fired again just to the right of the place the man had been, racked in another round instantly, and fired to the left of his first shot. As he pumped again he leaped to the side, knowing that his muzzle flashes were a beacon telling the assassin where to shoot.

The sound of the shots rolled through the night like thunder. Off to the right birds cried their fear. Gradually silence returned to the bush. There was no scream of pain, no return fire, nothing to show whether enough of the buckshot had found a target to make a difference.