WHERE THEY FALL, page 13
Annabelle struggled to breathe. Her sinuses had blocked up from hysteric crying. She felt faint as she forced air in through her blocked nasal passage. Her heart thumped. Her arms ached, forcefully positioned behind her, and bound with zip ties. Pins and needles tingled in her numbing fingertips.
Jules lay beside her in a state of semi-conscious trauma. She was almost non-responsive, staring at nothing with a washed-over look of defeat. Solidifying snot blocked her nostrils. Vomit covered her chest. Annabelle felt so helpless as she stared at her best friend. She couldn’t imagine what Jules was going through.
Larry and Jules had been married for five years. They had been together for ten. Jules had always struggled to maintain a consistent relationship. Larry had been different, though. Despite his larrikin attitude, he had shown Jules patience and understanding. His infectious humour had lifted Jules from anxiety and depression in their early years.
Annabelle replayed the scene over in her frenzied mind. Jules had dropped to the sand beside her husband. She gripped his lifeless body. Now, with no idea where they were going, she knew they would never see him again. Annabelle wasn’t religious. She was the furthest thing from it, but there, in the back of the unmarked four-wheel drive, she prayed to God.
The vehicle slowed down. Annabelle made eye contact with Jules for the first time in what felt like an hour. She had soiled herself, now lying in a pool of urine. Jules stared into Annabelle’s eyes. Fear embodied her stare. Bloodshot and puffy, her eyes exposed the helplessness that consumed them both.
It became dark. The sun disappeared. The rumble of the engine echoed off something solid as they descended underground. The vehicle came to a complete stop in the darkness. Annabelle could barely make out her friend laying a metre from her.
The tailgate opened and fluorescent light flooded the tub. Someone grabbed Annabelle by the ankle and dragged her out. She hit the concrete ground, unable to break her fall. Pain shot through her ribs as she made contact, knocking the air from her lungs. She watched the black-clad men grab Jules and repeat the process, pulling her out of the tub as if she were nothing more than a bag of firewood.
Jules squealed through her gag as she hit the ground. She looked around, shrieking. Annabelle knew better. She didn’t move. She remained silent. Screaming wouldn’t help them.
Double doors opened with a mechanical hum as Annabelle watched an entourage of people enter the bright concrete garage.
“Jesus, Sebastian. What the hell is this?”
The voice was stern. Female. Slight English accent.
“They were on the property,” Annabelle heard the driver of the vehicle reply. “They posed a threat. Our orders are explicit. Zero outsiders. Zero liabilities.”
“Well, shit. What are we supposed to do with them now?”
“That’s up to you, ma’am.”
Annabelle squinted in the bright lighting and looked up, making out the silhouette of the woman. She was of average height, with wavy brunette hair and high cheekbones. She wore a white lab coat and had a piercing stare. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned down and ripped the gag from Annabelle’s mouth with brutish force.
“Please!” The word left Annabelle’s mouth almost immediately. Before she could even process what she intended to say next. It was a reflex mechanism to beg for mercy.
Alana knelt down between Annabelle and Jules. She placed her hand on both of their hips, as if attempting to comfort them.
“What were you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Tears flowed down Annabelle’s cheeks. “Nothing. Just exploring. Driving to the track. Please. They killed Larry…”
Alana digested Annabelle’s reply. The left side of her mouth lifted as if she were enjoying it.
“Please, let us go. What is this place? What are you going to do with us?”
“So many questions. So much fear...”
“Jesus, Alana. Stop toying with them.”
Annabelle arched her head toward the double doors at the rear of the garage. A short, overweight man stood with his arms crossed. He, too, wore a white lab coat. Annabelle picked his accent as New Zealand or South African. She couldn’t be sure.
“Get them off the floor and take them into holding.”
His voice was stern, authoritative. It wasn’t a request.
Alana stood and gravitated toward the overweight man. “What the hell are we going to do with prisoners, Stephen? We don’t need prisoners. We need scientists!”
Stephen placed his hand amicably on Alana’s shoulder but ignored her question. Together, they approached Annabelle and Jules. Stephen squatted with a strained groan and studied the girls. Annabelle stared at him, desperate. Stephen stood.
“We can utilise them,” the plump man said. He took Alana by the elbow and moved across the concrete compound to get out of earshot.
“We can use them as test subjects,” Stephen said. “A control group of sorts. This way we can determine if it’s the engineered organs that are the problem, or the prototype medication itself. We can give similar doses to one of our subjects and one of these girls and monitor any differences in symptoms. ”
“Do we need Prime’s permission? They only just left.”
“No. I don’t think so. They want results. They don’t care how we get them. In fact, I wish we had thought of this earlier. Naturally born subjects will be perfect for comparisons.”
“But this changes everything, Stephen. I don’t want to bring attention to the facility. Prime has invested too much. I mean, what the fuck were these stupid bitches even doing on the dirt track? It’s the middle of damn nowhere.”
“Why they were there is unimportant. They were there and now they are here. I suggest the men go back and retrieve their vehicle. If we clean up after ourselves, no one will suspect anything. It’s a big desert out there. Big enough for tourists to go missing without raising suspicion.”
Alana grinned. “Okay. Let’s get them cleaned up and move them to Area C. Perhaps they can help with the reproduction problems we’re having with the subjects?”
“How so?”
“If they’re fertile, perhaps we can use their eggs and fertilise them in vitro in the subject’s uterus?”
Stephen nodded. “I’ll need to check with Lawrence to see if it’s plausible, but it’s a good idea none-the-less.”
“Great. You get them into holding. I’ll send Marc and his men back out to clean up the mess.”
TWENTY
Jake forced his Landcruiser across the empty desert, his heart racing faster than the purring V8 engine.
He felt out-of-body. The world spun. The dizzying heat of the desert made it even worse. Jake couldn’t quite comprehend that his best friend lay on the back seat of his prized four-wheel drive with a hole in his head. He couldn’t comprehend that someone had snatched his lover, his life partner, and driven off into the middle of nowhere.
Guilt consumed him.
If he hadn’t been off behind the rocks, he would have been there when they arrived. He would have been there to protect Annie. But then, he too, would be lying dead in the sand beside Larry.
Tears blurred Jake’s tired eyes. He wiped them away, only for more to appear. He kept his foot flat on the accelerator and drove west as fast as the terrain would allow. Nausea made him light-headed. Trauma caused him to shake. Despite the disbelief, he knew he needed to be strong. He owed it to Larry. He would never see Annie or Jules again unless he raised the alarm. It was on him and him alone.
Time ceased to exist. Bearded dragons, sunning themselves on the track, rushed out of the way of Jake’s high-speed escape. He reached the Strzelecki Track around midday. The sun hovered high on its apex across the cloudless blue. Soon after reaching the track, he spotted a lone caravan in the distance, being dragged along the track by a white Holden Colorado utility truck. He kept his foot to the floor as he closed the gap, coming up behind the caravan at an alarming speed. His vehicle shook as he rattled over the corrugations. Larry’s body bounced around on the back seat.
Jake overtook the Colorado and came to a stop, forcing the driver to slam the brakes and slide across the corrugated dirt. Jake leaped out and ran towards the white utility, causing the occupants of the vehicles to wind up their windows and lock their doors.
“Help,” Jake screamed. “They’ve taken Annabelle. They’ve killed Larry.”
An elderly man stared through the dust-covered windscreen. His wife sat beside him. The man wore a sweat-encrusted Akubra rabbit felt hat and a flannelette shirt, unbuttoned. His wife wore round, black sunglasses covering most of her face. She lowered them and opened her mouth in shock as Jake screamed.
Their apprehension dissipated as Jake dropped to his knees in the hot sand, pleading for help, tears flowing.
Curiosity.
They sensed his dire authenticity.
The driver opened his door and stepped out.
The passenger remained inside the vehicle.
“Mate, what’s going on? Who’s done what to who?”
“Some crazy fuckers,” Jake said, as he forced himself to his feet. “Some crazy fuckers came out of nowhere in the middle of the desert. They took my girlfriend. They just threw her in the back and took her. They shot Larry in the face. Please, do you have a radio? Do you have a satellite phone? We need the cops!”
The driver of the white Colorado turned to his wife. She shrugged, her mouth open with shock.
“You say they shot someone?”
“Here,” Jake screamed. “Take a bloody look! They left him for dead in the sand!”
The elderly man walked cautiously toward Jake’s Landcruiser. “Jonas, wait!” His wife called from within the Colorado, uncertainty crawling over her clammy skin.
Jonas ignored his wife, drawn somehow by Jake’s soul-shattering validity. He could tell that Jake wasn’t a threat. He could tell Jake wasn’t putting on a show. Jonas wasn’t sure how he knew. The power of connection. The power of empathy. Whatever it was, Jonas knew he needed to help this man.
He followed Jake to the rear door, remaining several paces behind him. Jake pulled the door open and let out a compulsive sob. Jonas peered inside. His eyes widened. He saw the limp body, its arms hanging off the seat. He saw the blood and the fist-sized exit wound in his head.
“Dear God!”
“Please. We need the cops!”
“When did this happen? Where?”
Jonas stepped back. He didn’t need to see anymore.
“This morning on some unmarked track near Lake Callabonna. They looked like soldiers.”
“Soldiers?”
“Shit, I dunno. Do you have a radio or not?”
Jonas nodded. “I do. But we haven’t seen many travellers. There might be no one out there to pick up the signal.”
“I need to damn well try,” Jake said.
“Of course. Follow me.”
Jonas adjusted his Akubra, buttoned his shirt up and retraced his steps back to the open door of his truck. His wife shrank back into the passenger seat as Jake approached. Jonas leaned in to the centre console, turned the radio transmitter on and pulled the microphone and its coiled lead toward Jake. Jake snatched it and pressed the button on the side.
“Help, is anyone there?”
He released his finger.
Silence.
“Hello! Is anyone on channel?”
Nothing.
“What channel are you on?”
“Fourteen.”
“Move to seventeen.”
Jonas adjusted the channel on the unit.
“Hello, is anyone on channel? Hello!”
Radio static hummed and crackled. Then a faint noise came through, followed by broken speaking.
Jake’s eyes lit up. “Hello, are you there?”
“Yes… Receiving. What’s going on?”
“Oh, thank God. This is Jake. There’s been an incident. We need the police. Where are you?”
More crackling. The voice dropped out.
“Repeat that,” Jake said. “I didn’t copy.”
“This is Allan.” The radio dropped out again. “Lyndhurst service station. Over.”
Jake looked at Jonas with familiarity. “Allan! We came through yesterday. We got coffee and fuel! Allan, there’s been a serious incident. You need to call the police.”
“What kind of incident? Over.”
“A kidnapping. A murder. Out near Mount Hopeless. Can you call the police? Get them out here on the track.”
“A murder?” Allan asked, crackling through the line. “Jesus Christ. Where is the murderer?”
“I don’t bloody know. They took Annabelle. They looked like soldiers. Please get the police from Leigh Creek. Get a damn helicopter if you need to. I’m heading towards Lyndhurst. I’ll be there in three hours!”
“Copy that. I’ll call the police now. You just drive slowly, okay? No point having an accident.”
“Okay. Thanks, Allan.”
“Over and out.”
Jake looked at Jonas. He smiled. “The police will come soon,” Jake said, as if reassuring himself. “Thank you so much.”
“That’s okay with us. Are you okay to drive? Do you think you should wait here until they arrive?”
“I can’t stay here. I need to get Larry’s body out. If I were you, I would get back to Lyndhurst as fast as you can. Who knows where those psychopaths are?”
“Yes, we’re heading back to the highway anyway. Please be safe.”
Jake nodded. He placed his hand on Jonas’s weathered arm. “Thank you.”
He turned and raced back to the driver’s side of the Landcruiser and took off along the corrugated track. Jonas and his wife watched the Landcruiser disappear into the distance.
Allan returned his radio receiver to its mount on his cluttered counter and picked up his phone. He dialled a ten-digit number. A satellite phone number. The phone rang several times before the line connected.
“Hello?”
“Alana? Is that you?”
“Yes. Alana here. Who’s this?”
“It’s Allan. From Lyndhurst. It sounds like you’ve had problems up there. Some guy is on the radio complaining about a murder. A kidnapping near Mount Hopeless.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! When?”
“Just now. A few minutes ago.”
“Where is he?”
“On the Strzelecki. He said he would be in Lyndhurst in three hours. He asked for the cops.”
“Okay, thanks Allan. We will sort it out. Have any tourists gone through today?”
“No, the place is like a ghost-town.”
“Good. Leave it with us.”
“Alana, the radio is an open line. Other people could have heard it.”
“I know that, Allan. I wasn’t born yesterday. We will take care of it all. Just call me if someone else goes on the track. Okay?”
“Of course.”
Alana hung up.
Alana raced down the corridor of Area A.
She needed to reach Marc and his team before they left. They had more cleaning up to do than they thought. She forced the double doors open just as she saw the armed mercenaries step into the back of their shiny black Hilux.
“Wait,” she demanded, her voice echoing through the underground garage.
Marc looked up. He wore the same black uniform as the others. A Glock nine-millimetre pistol and a bottle of pepper spray hung from his combat belt. He was clean-shaven, his crew cut mirroring those in his crew.
“What’s up?”
Fire burned in Alana’s eyes. “You left someone alive! They’ve been on the radio!”
Marc’s expression changed. He looked insulted. “We left no one alive, ma’am. There were three of them. We left the man with a hole in his head. There is no way he survived.”
“Someone survived!”
“Who’s radio did they use?”
“No idea. But they’re on the Strzelecki Track now. Some guy. He was on the line screaming about kidnapping and murder. Oh fuck, this is a nightmare. They took the car and their heading to Lyndhurst. You need to cover all bases, Marc. We cannot have anything leak. Go find him. Go get him and execute the threat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Am I clear? We don’t need another prisoner. We need discretion. Kill him and anyone else who knows anything.”
“Without question, ma’am.”
“Now go!”
Ryan Bannon drove his truck north, his air conditioner set to maximum as the blistering sun rose higher into the midday sky.
He neared Marree, an outback community with a population of one hundred and fifty people. At the junction of the famous Oodnadatta and Birdsville Tracks, colonial developers established Marree as a staging post for camel trains before they completed the Ghan train line in the late 1870s. It now served little more than a service centre for sheep and cattle station owners. It was the end of the line. A cluster of ramshackle buildings in the middle of the red sand desert, crammed in between Lake Eyre, the Sturt Desert and the Simpson Desert.
Ryan navigated his road train semi-trailer across the remote road with a sense of familiarity. He knew the roads well. He’d been driving trucks in the region for over a decade.
Radio static pulled his attention from the double white lines before him. The channel had been quiet for the entire day. It was rare to get anyone on channel until he got closer to Marree. Then he often heard the interaction of the station owners and farm hands. He turned the volume up and strained to hear over the crackling.
“… Police… Kidnapping… A Murder…”
Ryan turned to volume up as high as it would go.
“They looked like soldiers… Lyndhurst… Three hours…”
“Jesus,” Ryan said aloud. “Sounds like someone has gotten themselves into a bit of trouble.”
He turned the radio off and switched to his CD player. Ryan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of Cold Chisel’s Khe Sanh. He thought about what could happen out there under desert skies. It wasn’t the first time the desert was the stage for murder and kidnapping. And it wouldn’t be the last. The desert was a large, formidable place. People could disappear without a trace. People did disappear without a trace out there every year. The thought sent shivers down his spine. He turned the volume up and tried to forget what he had heard.
