WALKABOUT 2 - The Back of Beyond (Part 11)

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61

I was never a great runner, even when I was young. I was always quick, and could keep up with anyone for fifty yards or so, but beyond that my speed bled off. I needed to keep moving, putting as much distance as I could between me and the Death Adders. And then what? How could I possibly be in position to help Shelby?

I had Archer’s phone, and I knew his password. I could use it to contact Sheriff Bridges back home in Indiana. I had no idea how long it would be until they caught up with me. It was now or never, even if stopping meant losing my life.

I found a large rock, crouched behind it, and retrieved Archer’s phone from my pants pocket. Thank God, there was coverage, albeit only one bar. We must be getting near that place, Coober Pedy.

I had no idea if Archer had access to international calls. The quickest and most certain way of getting a message out was email. I searched online for the Page County Indiana Sheriff Department, found an email address.

I accessed the email account I’d set up while on the ship, and typed as quickly as I could with shaking hands:

Sherif bridges

     shelby in danger

                                    hangar page

                                    airport tyh

and hit SEND, praying the sheriff would see the message before it was too late.

I shut down the phone to conserve battery power, and put it back in my pocket. I stood, looked around. To the west, the car was still burning. To the north, the faint glow of what I guessed was Coober Pedy. And beyond, lightning. To the east, the moon was now fully visible, no longer orange but silver. All around me, large mounds of rock and sand glowed in an eerie, other-worldly, aura. As before, I was fascinated by the millions upon millions of stars filling the sky, horizon to horizon. I was reminded of the song, How Great Thou Art, and wished I could stay, if only for a few minutes.

My moment of tranquility was soon finished. I smelled the cigarette stench of Archer before I saw him, standing atop one of the mounds, his gun aimed at me. I heard the click as he cocked the hammer. “I’m gonna do you in right now, Mulligan.”

“Not just yet, Archer.” It was Simone, who now approached me.

“I lost an eye on account of him,” Archer said. “And I walk with a limp.”

It was true. I hurt him bad when he jumped me on the cruise ship. It seemed years, not weeks, ago.

Simone sighed, shook her head. “If you’d done your job better, it wouldn’t have happened,”

Archer sniffed. “Yeah, well . . . It ends now.”

“Flynn wants him first,” Simone said.

“Oh, yes. I nearly forgot,” Archer grumbled. “It’s all about Flynn.”

“What say you, Mulligan?” Simone asked. She was now standing next to me. “Should I leave you here to fend for yourself against Archer, or are you going to come along with us?”

I looked at her, then Archer. Simone spoke again. “Your daughter’s life depends upon your decision; in case you need a reminder of what’s at stake.”

Of course she was right, and I had been crazy to have tried to escape. But I had bought enough time to send the message to Sheriff Bridges. “I’ll come along with you,” I said.

“Car coming!” Peter shouted from the road.

62

By now, the Holden had burned itself out. There were no flames to illuminate Peter and Archer as they stood in the middle of the road, in front of the dead camel, waving for the approaching vehicle to stop. The driver didn’t see them until the last second, and slammed on the brakes and swerved to avoid hitting them. The Toyota Hiace came to a stop at an odd angle with its left front wheel resting atop a small berm on the side of the road.

“Geeze!” the driver, wearing khaki cargo shorts and an unbuttoned shirt said as he bailed out. “I damned near hit you! Everyone alright?” His accent was American. I guessed maybe Boston. Somewhere in the New England region.

“We’re fine, mate,” Peter said. “Can’t say the same for the camel, or our car,” he pointed to the dead animal in the road, then nodded toward the burnt-out Holden.

“Oh, my God!” The driver’s female companion, a ponytailed blonde in tight yellow shorts and an orange tank top exclaimed as she came around from the passenger side of the camper van. “Is it—”

“Dead,” Peter said.

“What? How?”

“Standing out in the middle of the road,” Peter said. “We didn’t see it in time.”

“What’s a camel doing in Australia?” the man said.

“Always been here,” Archer replied with obvious contempt, making no effort to hide his annoyance with the question.
“Long time back,” Peter said, “Afghans brought them over for the cross-country caravans through the desert. Some are now roaming free.”

“Oh,” the man said.

Simone stepped forward. “We’ll be needing your van.”

“Sorry,” the man said. “We’re already crowded as it is, but we can maybe take one of you, get you some help in Coober Pedy.” He shrugged, said “Sorry” again.

Simone indicated to Archer and Peter with a nod that it was time to help these tourists understand. Archer flashed his gun, grabbed the woman by her ponytail with his free hand and gave it a yank. She yelped in pain. Peter grabbed the man by his collar when he stepped forward to help her. “Don’t get any ideas about being a hero, mate.”

“Take them over the hill,” Simone said.

The eyes of the tourists widened in fear. I moved toward Peter. Simone stepped in, pressed her knife against my stomach. “Think of your daughter.” I closed my eyes, swallowed hard, and stepped back.

My three abductors took the young couple over the hill, leaving me alone with the dead camel. I stood there, paralyzed by indecision. I considered jumping in the camper van and leaving them there. But, I didn’t dare run again. I thought of Archer’s cell phone in my pocket, of calling the police. It would be hours before help could arrive, if anyone would believe me. And I had no idea where to tell them we were. Somewhere on the road to Coober Pedy. If I charged over the hill to save these two unfortunates, I would certainly fail, and probably be killed for my efforts. And then Shelby would be killed. No. There was nothing I could do for them. All I could do was stay alive, for Shelby. I heard a scream that will haunt me the rest of my days.

A minute later, they returned, Simone, Peter, and Archer, without the tourists. “We have transportation now,” Simone said matter-of-factly. And just like that, we were on our way again.

63

Messerton, Illinois

Alan Kincaid picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Kincaid Florists.”

“Chief Rodgers here, Alan.”

“What’s up?”

“Can you meet me at the spot where you found the items you brought to my attention in say, twenty minutes?”

“Just finishing up an order for a delivery. Make it half an hour.”

“See you then. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone where you are going.”

64

Once more, I wondered what Baron Wilder, the hero of my novel, would do if he were in my situation. I glanced at Simone, who was looking out her side window, her long ponytail draped over her shoulder, concealing her scar.

What would Baron Wilder do?

Nonchalantly undo his seatbelt buckle. A quick elbow to Archer’s temple. Lunge forward, grab and snap Peter’s neck, before reaching over the seatback to choke Simone. Then, climb over the seats, take control of the car. Find a way to break the cable ties on his hands and feet.

I made a mental note that if I survived this misadventure and went on to pursue my ambition of becoming an author, it would be a good idea to always have my main character, the hero of the story, be single. No wife. No kids. No strings of attachment. Family especially is an Achilles’ Heel. Take my situation as a perfect example. I just came up with a great way for my story’s hero to overtake the car. Hell, it might even work in real life. But I didn’t dare try it.

First, there was the fear factor. I admit it. The thought of attempting to incapacitate three members of a motorcycle gang and commandeer a vehicle, all while my hands were bound, scared and intimidated me. But more than that, there were consequences, as Simone had made abundantly clear. If I double-crossed their leader, Flynn, it would not go well for Shelby. So I was motivated to do whatever these people asked of me.

I must have held my gaze upon Simone a bit too long. She reached for the ponytail, pulled it back behind her head, and thrust her jaw toward me, giving me an unobstructed view of the scar. Our eyes locked. After a long, awkward moment, I turned away.

65

Coober Pedy

We pulled off the main road and proceeded down a residential street. “We’re stopping for a bit,” Simone said as she braked to a stop in front of a dugout home carved out in the shape of a horseshoe on the side of a barren, rocky hill. “Archer, remove Mr. Mulligan’s restraints.”

“But—” Archer protested.

“Don’t ‘But’ me. Do it!” she barked.

Archer reached into a pocket to retrieve a folding knife, and did as ordered. I rotated my wrists, trying to restore proper circulation as we sat there for several seconds, allowing the dust the van had stirred up to clear away before anyone opened a door. There was no warning of consequences if I were to take advantage of my new circumstances. There was no need.

The place didn’t look like much from the outside.

An older, unwashed truck with a tarp in the bed was parked out front, under a tin roof which also shaded a patio that was connected to the house by a sliding glass door.

A few towels and a couple of sundresses hung limply from a clothesline that ran from one of the corner posts to a power line pole a few yards away. There weren’t many windows. I supposed that was designed to keep heat out.

A half-dozen vent stacks protruded out of the ground above the house, and a few potted plants were left outside to die in the sun.

Simone was greeted at the door by an older woman. By that I mean she was probably in her late fifties, maybe early sixties. About my age. Shoulder-length hair, now streaked with strands of gray. She wore a T-shirt, shorts that showcased her athletic legs, and flip flops. She carried a few extra pounds in the hips and stomach, but only a few. Fit, for her age. Not fat.

Archer indicated with a grunt and a nod of his head that I should follow Simone inside. We all gathered in the center of a combination kitchen/dining room. Pots and pans hung from hooks attached to the stone walls. Otherwise, it was your typical kitchen. Stove, refrigerator and dishwasher, cabinets and a round table.

Simone said to me, “This is Kathleen Seton.” Then, “Kathleen, Say hello to Jared. Archer, you already know, of course.”

“Hello,” Kathleen said, nodding to me before shooting a look of contempt in the direction of Archer, who winked at her and blew her a kiss.

Simone said, “Jared is from America.” She flashed me a warning look. “He’s here on holiday.”

“Oh, I see. I’ve never been. Plan to go someday, though. While I’m still young.” Archer snorted at her remark and I resisted the urge to strike him.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” Kathleen sniffed. “How long will you be staying?”

“Not long. We’re here on business. We just wanted to see you first. Dexter wants to know if there is anything you need.”

“Is he with you?”

Simone shook her head. “No.”

Kathleen twisted her mouth. “Hmmmf. He still hasn’t replaced the blouse you ruined when you shoved me into the car at Daniel’s funeral.”

“I’m terribly sorry about that,” Simone said. “How are you getting on, Kathleen? And how is Emily holding up?”

“Oh, I’m learning to live day by day. After Daniel passed—” Kathleen sniffed, wiped away a tear. “Emily went to Darwin to stay with friends. She’s taking it rather hard.”

Simone placed a hand on Kathleen’s forearm, smiled sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, Kathleen. We didn’t really get an opportunity to talk after the funeral, with all the chaos.”

“I wish Dexter would get out of that gang. Or club, as he calls it. It will be the death of him one day.”

There was an awkward silence, after which we were led into another room, also with stone walls, the entire dwelling being carved out of the rocky hill. “Kathleen’s husband died at a young age,” Simone said quietly the moment Kathleen was out of earshot. “Flynn sees to it she’s taken care of. She practically raised him.”

Why Simone felt it necessary to tell me any of this, I didn’t know. So, I nodded. As if I gave a shit.

Kathleen was a good hostess, offering us tea and something called cheeseymite scrolls—cinnamon rolls filled with cheese and vegemite. I had my reservations, but accepted one anyway, to avoid being rude. Yes, even when being held against one’s will, manners are important. To my surprise it was actually quite good, and I helped myself to another. Neither Kathleen nor Simone partook. Archer made up the difference and more, wolfing down all that remained.

Kathleen took the plate back into the kitchen, and Simone followed. I could hear them speaking in muffled tones, but couldn’t make out what it was about.

As they came back into the room, I said, “Excuse me, Ms. Seton,” I said. “May I use your restroom?”

“The what?”

“The water closet,” Simone interpreted for us.

“Oh,” Kathleen said, as if this was an unusual request. “Well, I suppose.” She shot a disapproving look toward Simone. “Yes. It’s down the hall, to your right.”

There were some photographs hanging on the wall in the hallway. There were two teenage boys in one of the photos, donning graduation caps and gowns. Both athletic, with confident, radiant smiles. Another was of an attractive young woman, standing between the two boys from the graduation picture. Yet another graduation photo, of her alone. And there was a family portrait. One face in particular leaped out of the photographs at me. Daniel, the photographer from the cruise ship.

A good healthy crap is probably one of the most underrated things in life. I sat there, reveling in the moment, and actually fell asleep on the toilet. I went back in time. Dianna and I were at a park with the kids, pushing them on the swings—

A banging on the bathroom door awakened me. “Shake a leg, Mulligan,” Archer growled.

“Be right out,” I said as I finished the paperwork and pressed the button on the tank lid for a full flush.

Archer was banging on the door again. “Get your finger outta your arse ‘n’ get out of there, Mulligan! It’s time to go see Flynn.”