Red Centre (8 page)

Tears threatened again to fill Lisa’s eyes,
but she refused to let them come. It was all surreal. It was all
too much. She felt a confused mix of curiosity and fear. Fear
dominated. Her chest thumped from a pounding heart; every breath
rapid; almost hyperventilating.

She gripped the knife, her only defense.

She didn’t know whether she could face this
strange creature, or would she just crumble and drop the knife?

With seconds to spare, she made a decision:
run!

Turning to run, her ankle twisted and
crunched. Lisa swallowed her scream and stumbled to the ground, the
blade tumbling across the dry ground. The wind knocked out of her,
she lay face down in the dirt, the knife just a few feet from her
fingertips. She could hear the creature getting closer. She turned
over to look back, her hand searching, searching for anything to
grab—a rock, a branch, dirt! She clenched a small branch, tossing
it aimlessly toward the advancing freak. A useless but desperate
effort.

A tear trickled down her cheek. “Stay away
from me!” she screamed, pleaded.

The creature continued, ignorant of her
plea. Ignorant or deaf.

“
STAY. BACK!” She
screeched out each word at the top of her lungs. It continued to
advance, almost in reaching distance. Rolling over she dragged
herself along the ground toward the knife. She clutched it, along
with dirt. Adrenaline primed her body, ready to defend itself. But
just as she was about to whip her body around with a screaming
slash—

A bright light in the
distance peeked through the trees, catching her eye. She paused; so
did the creature.
Shit, not more of
them.
The whitish light quickly drew
closer. It moved with speed, crushing all in its path. No tree
could withstand its charge. The distinct noise of a roaring V8
engine came into range.

Lisa’s truck barreled through the bushes,
crushing its own road. It burst through to the open, rocky area
where the two stood. Chris could see the strange creature standing
close to Lisa, now fixated on him and the speeding truck.

Chris pushed the truck harder, straight
toward it. As the truck bounced, Chris lost sight of both of them,
just for a split second. As soon as it stabilized, he only saw
Lisa, still on the ground.

The gray, gone.

The four-by-four pulled to an abrupt stop,
small rocks crunching under its tires. Lisa, more than happy to see
Chris, desperately hobbled on an injured ankle to the passenger
door.

***

Hitting a mound of dirt the truck bounced
into the air, landing front wheels first, back onto the sandy road.
Twisting and crunching, the old truck had never known so much
abuse; a trail of destruction left in its wake. Chris was intense,
not taking his eyes off the road.

Lisa was in shock—dazed. She stared straight
ahead. “Destroying plants in a national park is an offence,” she
said in a monotone voice. All her confused mind could think of was
the damage Chris had caused. That was all she wanted to think of.
It was the only way to feel somewhat normal again.

Chris glanced over at her for a moment.
Dumbfounded. It was something his wife would say to him. Maybe it
was a woman thing, to think of something other than themselves.

His eyes drifted down to the white-gold
wedding band around his finger. It was snug. When they first got
married, it was loose and he had to be careful not to lose it. He
would often leave it at home for safe keeping when at work, much to
his Kate’s disappointment. Kate preferred he let other women know
he was spoken for. How would she react with him driving around the
outback of Australia with a young woman in the car at night? Kate
wasn’t really the jealous type. She trusted Chris, but she
preferred to avoid confusion and the appearance of wrongdoing.
Chris loved that about her.

Dabbing rubbing alcohol on her grazed knee
Lisa winced in pain. She sat on the step at the front of the ranger
station with a first-aid kit. The morning songs of the local birds
sounded out amongst the trees; the sun barely up. Chris leaned
against the side of his Cherokee watching on as Sergeant Jack
MacKenzie circled around Lisa’s truck. He had his notebook out,
slowly taking down notes.

Bits of trees and shrubs hung off the front
bullbar. Dried-vegetation skid marks painted the front and sides of
the truck. Fresh dents covered the hood; a crack across the
windshield; the side mirror—completely ripped off. MacKenzie pulled
some of the small branches off and dropped them onto the ground.
“Looks like you took out a few trees,” he called over to Chris.

Chris reluctantly pushed off the side of the
Cherokee with his back to join MacKenzie.

“
You’re sure you hit the,
arr … alien?” MacKenzie said as he scratched the side of his face.
He wasn’t sure what to make of their story.

Chris nodded. “I must have.”

MacKenzie leaned in to look at the hood a
little more closely. “Have you had anything to drink?” He scratched
at some of the paint/skid marks with his fingernail.

Chris shook his head, crossing his arms.
Lisa approached from behind to join the conversation.

MacKenzie looked up from his notebook.
“We’ll have to run some tests.” He stood back to take in the whole
vehicle, taking a few snap shots on an ancient-looking digital
camera—first generation, very low quality, very outdated.

He slowly moved around the truck, looking it
up and down, snapping the camera as he proceeded. Chris and Lisa
slowly followed behind. They weren’t sure what he was looking for,
but it didn’t take much guess work to know he didn’t believe them.
They finally reached the bed. MacKenzie rested his arms on the
tailgate, staring into the empty bed. He ran his fingers through
his hair and down to the back of his neck, giving it a small
rub.

He removed a small flashlight from his
police belt, holding it loosely. “And you had it in the back as
well?” MacKenzie continued.

Lisa nodded. MacKenzie’s flashlight sparked
on, shining around the bed. Nothing unusual there. “Then it jumped
out and chased you?” He scratched the side of his head with the
back of his light. “So how did you get it in the back in the first
place?”

“
We didn’t put it in the
back!” Lisa said. “It was just in there!”

MacKenzie turned to face them, leaning his
back against the truck. “So it just climbed in there itself?”

“
I don’t know. I guess
so,” Lisa said, putting her hands on her hips, getting a little
exasperated.

“
This is getting a little
out of my expertise.” MacKenzie closed up his little notebook and
slipped it into his top shirt pocket. “Nothing more I can do
here.”

“
What about the Baker
family?” Lisa took a step toward him. “Don’t you want to see where
they were—” she bit her bottom lip, not sure if she wanted to
believe what she was going to say “—taken?”

MacKenzie started to walk towards his patrol
four-by-four. “Lisa, can I talk with you for a moment?” Lisa
followed the sergeant over to his truck, just out of earshot from
Chris.

MacKenzie rested his hands on his belt. He
looked down on Lisa with chastising eyes. “To put it bluntly, I
don’t believe you or the Yank.” He nodded his head toward Chris.
“You’re better than this. I’m not sure what you guys are up to
alone out here. And I don’t know what game he’s playing. Seems to
me, he’s trying to get some sort of media attention, some renewed
interest in his son’s disappearance. Not that I can probably blame
the guy.”

“
It’s the truth,” Lisa
said softly.

MacKenzie looked around behind him, as if
searching for an imaginary friend to back him up, and scratched his
head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t know if he
got you drunk, or drugged you—but this is just bullshit. Surely you
don’t expect me to believe this? I’ve been around these parts all
my life.”

“
I don’t drink, remember?”
Lisa fired back.

MacKenzie shook his head in disbelief. He
raised an index finger, wanting to speak, but just gave up. What
would be the point?

He slowly climbed into his four-by-four.

“
Jack?” Lisa called,
wanting to reason with him. MacKenzie slammed the door. She tapped
on the window. He punched the gas, leaving her stunned and in a
cloud of dust.

***

Loose pieces of the Baker’s tent flapped
about as a small breeze blew through their deserted campsite. Chris
walked around the site looking for clues. He squatted down, staring
into the vacant tent. How could a family of four just disappear?
Could this be what happened to his son? Wrong place, wrong time.
Plucking grass off the ground he played with it between his
fingers. Contemplating. There was nothing to see here. No evidence
of anything strange.

He was careful not to touch anything. This
place would soon be a crime scene and he didn’t want to mess that
up. His training had taught him that; he had never worked any kind
of investigation, but had served for a number of years as a
part-time guardsman in the National Guard when he was in college.
The plan was to go on to Special Forces, but he didn’t make the
cut. It sounded cool, but his heart really wasn’t in it. The pay
was the main attraction at the time. It helped out with college
fees and he got paid to stay fit. Even though it had been many
years since he served, he still retained a lot of the discipline
and expertise learned.

***

The hot, morning sun beat down on Chris’
parked Cherokee. It was parked in almost the same spot as Lisa’s
truck the night before; the place where Lisa took flight into the
wilderness to escape.

Chris wandered off a short distance, walking
the trail of destruction he had carved into the fragile landscape.
Crushed and broken trees lay before him.

Finally making it to the small clearing
where he had found Lisa, he searched the surrounds. He struggled to
believe what he had seen last night. How could anyone else be
expected to believe it? And he had seen it with his own eyes. It
was crazy talk. A dog barked in the near distance, breaking his
thoughts. Following the sound of the barking dog he made his way up
onto a slight ridge overlooking a small clearing. In the distance
three men and the dog searched through the scrub.

The muscular, brown-haired pit-bull pulled
hard against its leash. Its thick, studded collar was a sure sign
it was used in these parts for pig hunting. And it was hot on a
scent, but not for pigs. Roy was on the other end of the leash,
fighting with one hand to stop the dog from running off. His other
hand busy nursing his shotgun.

Frank walked just in front of Roy, packing
the trusted, double-barrel shotgun. It was clear these boys weren’t
out for a morning stroll in the woods.

***

The third man, an
Aboriginal tracker, led Roy and Frank. Mogo was small-framed,
barefooted and mid fifties. His rough, black hair and scraggly
beard were highlighted by streaks of silver. His tribe had lived in
these parts for thousands of years—an ancient culture, indigenous
to Australia. Navigating the land and tracking were instinctual. He
knew this area like the back of his hand, being one with the land.
His tracking ability like no other: heightened sight, smell and
hearing. Trackers like him were called “Black Trackers” by the
white man, able to track when others couldn’t. People out here knew
Australian Aborigines were some of the best native trackers in the
world.
“
Track or
die” was their way to survive. If you didn’t track your food, you
didn’t eat.

Mogo’s eyes traced over the area, looking
for anything out of place. A misplaced twig, rock or maybe animal
tracks in the soft dirt. Animals leave all kinds of clues.

***

Chris watched from a distance, trying not to
get noticed. What were these three men doing out here? Surely they
couldn’t have heard about last night already. Were they already out
looking for the Baker family? Not likely. The cops weren’t even out
here yet. Locals wouldn’t go looking for tourists without any
encouragement from law enforcement. Where were they when Shawn
first went missing? Something didn’t seem right about the three
men. Frank and Roy couldn’t be trusted. Especially Roy.
Redneck.

Mogo poked around scuffed footprints in the
sand; prints not of a man. These weren’t trails he had seen before.
They were tracking something unearthly—a wounded creature. A small,
liquid trail followed the footprints, maybe blood in the sandy
dirt. Mogo moved swiftly, following the trail. Frank and Roy
followed closely behind.

The group of three travelled further into
rocky terrain, their movement slowed by rocks and a growing lack of
clues. Mogo softly dusted rocks in his hands and crouched
motionless for a couple of minutes—as if he was rehearsing
movements in his mind. He moved in circles, looking for anything
that would provide the creature’s whereabouts. The other two
watched on, letting the tracker do his work.

Chris continued to observe from afar.

Mogo let the wind hit him the face. He
breathed in deeply, trying to see what smells were in the air,
looking for anything out of the ordinary. However, only the native
fauna aroma was present. He closed his eyes to listen to the things
around him. Nothing. The trail was lost, for now.

Roy glanced over at Frank. He wasn’t too
keen on the tracker, and Frank knew it. Mogo was Frank’s friend
after all.

Roy had his dog. That was all he needed to
track this animal.

Suddenly something caught Mogo’s attention,
maybe a sound or a smell. Whatever it was he was on the trail
again. They followed Mogo, traveling a short distance, further into
the rocky terrain, finally reaching a hidden cave behind some dry
shrubs. Chris edged a little further along the ridge, trying to get
a better look and not blow his cover.