Chapter Thirty
Thirty
The bulldust settled like fine red icing sugar, like something used for coating a perfectly baked delight. Except this powder made Amara’s lungs burn with every breath. Only moments ago there had been pounding fear, with the horn blaring, and raining sands…
Now, there was only silence.
She lay half-curled against Porter’s chest, the beat of his heart steady beneath her. The warmth of his body was grounding, and his arms hadn’t moved since he’d pulled her free from her sinking car.
Above them, the stars stretched wide and endless. No moon. No town lights. Just the ancient outback sky, cold and clear, watching over them silently.
But the outback was never truly silent for long. She could hear it now—the low drone of insects, the flutter and screech of a fruit bat passing overhead, and the soft thuds of a wallaby or two making their way through the shrubbery.
And Porter breathing. Slow. Steady.
‘You saved my life,’ she whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. Just held her a little tighter. ‘Yeah, well… you had me age ten years, Montrose.’
She tried to laugh. But it was more of a broken, breathless sound. Her throat was sandblasted-raw, as she wiped at her gritty eyes, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
The Ram was gone. Her car was bogged. And they were miles from town. In formal wear. With dust in their lungs and who knows what lay between them and Elsie Creek.
Amara sat upright, her dress surprisingly still intact, but coated red. ‘We’ve got water, a torch, maybe a rope. That’s—’
‘Buried under the dust.’
Her eyes flared at the place where the car had been swallowed whole, leaving nothing but a silky-smooth layer of dust. Her phone was in there, her bag, everything.
Porter sat up beside her, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘We’re in for a walk, Montrose.’
She sighed heavily, as she gazed up at the stars glittering silently like a captivated audience waiting to see if they’d pass this outback test.
Porter got to his feet and held out a hand, even if he was wincing with pain. ‘Come on. I don’t want Siri coming back. Arsehole.’
She went to stand, but the pain in her ankle was the wake-up call she didn’t need. A sharp stabbing pain radiated through her right ankle, up her shin and calf, forcing her to fall.
Again, Porter was there to help her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Ankle. Must have twisted it somehow.’ And that ticked her off. She didn’t want to play some dumb damsel in distress, not when they had a hike ahead of them.
‘Let’s see?’ Porter gently crouched down and pulled back the layers of her delicate ballgown to expose her ankle. ‘You’re still wearing your shoes.’
‘If you’re going to make some smart-arse crack about being Cinderella losing her glass slipper—’
‘Not today, I’m not.’ His long fingers were strong, yet tender.
‘Ow.’ She squirmed.
‘Well, that confirms you’re not ready for a midnight hike across the country. The good news is, it’s not broken.’
‘You’re not leaving me here.’ The fear hardly had time to settle from her last upheaval, and now it flared enough for her to grip his arm. She did not want to be left alone.
‘I’m not going anywhere without you, Montrose.’ Porter removed his jacket and started ripping up the inner lining.
‘What are you doing? That’s Armani.’
‘So, fancy bandaging then. I’ll just work out a payment plan with Stone for the suit when we get back.’ He used the inner lining to wrap her ankle tight. Then tapped her calf. ‘Up you get.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll carry you for a bit.’ His arms wrapped around her protectively until she got her balance.
Holding his arm, she tested the ankle with her weight. ‘I can smell blood.’
Porter touched the back of his head and his fingers came away dark. ‘Oh. That’s me. That arsehole clobbered me with the shovel while I was hooking the rope under your car.’ He winced, swiping the blood on his trousers, then glared down the empty track full of nothing but dust and shadows.
Amara followed his gaze. ‘Why would he do that?’
It hung between them for a moment.
Porter ripped more lining from his jacket. ‘Maybe he panicked. Saw your work bag. Knew you were police.’
‘That doesn’t explain why he tried to bury us alive. That was… calculated. Siri led us out here, like a trap.’
‘Yeah.’ Porter nodded slowly, scooping up the strips of his torn coat, using a patch to press against the wound on the back of his head.
‘It was a trap. As to why?’ He shrugged, turning to face the dusty area that hid her car.
‘Siri wanted us gone—quietly. And out here, no one would’ve found us.
Not when Dixby Downs is supposed to be deserted. ’
She tried to swallow, but her throat still burned.
Yet something even more chilling made her shiver.
‘Has Siri done this before? He obviously knows the land, especially the way he drove up with no lights. He was leading us into a trap the second we crossed the cattle grid. He knew we were following him.’
And this was all her fault.
‘Which means we need to move, Montrose. For all we know, he could still be out there, watching us right now.’
She rubbed her arms to rid the chill that was in her bones. ‘Do you think it was him? The guy Brodie saw arguing with Red?’
‘Has to be. Fits the timeline. Fits the car.’
‘Fits the rage.’
Porter nodded again, slower this time, as if thinking. ‘Still doesn’t explain what he was doing out here, this far from town. Middle of the night. Shovels and buckets in the tray. When there is no livestock or fences this side of Dixby Downs.’
Amara looked back toward the buried Land Rover, where the red earth had already flattened out, hiding its depth—and her car—like it had never been there at all.
‘My parents bought me that car.’ The words tight in her throat.
‘After too many weekends away, playing polo and borrowing the station’s vehicles for days on end.
’ She tried for a smile, but it felt brittle.
‘My father called it a show pony, useless on rough paddocks, but good for towing a horse float. But Mum loved it. We’d take it for shopping runs, pub lunches, visiting neighbours… ’
The memories stuck heavier than the dust.
After everything fell apart, the car was all she’d kept.
Now, it was just another buried secret.
‘Come on.’ He squatted down to her skirts, trying to lift the layers.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Trying to find your legs under all these petticoats.’
‘What for?’
‘To pick you up.’
‘I can walk.’ She batted his hands away.
‘Are we going to debate this for the next ten minutes over why it’s a good idea for me to carry you?’
‘No.’ She started walking, even if it was a heavy limp, with the pain shooting up to her hip. It wasn’t good. Especially in heels. ‘I’ll just find a stick, like Tilly’s walking stick, to help me.’
‘Tilly doesn’t need her cane to walk with.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘She’s like a lot of other cattleman who use those long canes for practical stuff. Checking trough depths, moving cattle, banging the ground to warn off snakes.’
Amara frowned. ‘Weird thing to bring into town, isn’t it.’
‘Not if you’re used to having it with you, like a stockman’s hat.’ He paused, brows pulling together. ‘Or maybe it’s all part of her bluff. Making people think she’s slower than she is. Keeps ‘em off guard.’
Amara’s breath caught as her ankle throbbed while she tried to navigate a shrub.
A shrub!
Yet, it was like she was trying to scale the rim of a volcano, with the fire radiating up her leg. She had to talk about something. ‘Earlier tonight,’ she said between gasps and winces of pain. ‘Izzy told me that Tilly was staying at the Lodge for her safety. Because of her son.’
‘I know.’ Porter sighed, pulling away the rag from his head wound. ‘Even though there is no evidence that Sawyer’s alive, I think she’s afraid of him. And when a tough station woman like Tilly is worried? That tells me plenty.’
‘Is that why you’re working on her case? To give her peace of mind?’ What she’d give to be home for that peace of mind, too.
‘Here, use me if you insist on walking.’ He slung her arm over his shoulders. ‘We’ll go west.’
‘Why?’
‘If Siri comes back, he won’t know where we are. But… before we go any further, now we’re on solid ground. Stay there.’ He leaned her up against a tree, then ripped off a leafy branch from a nearby shrub.
She doubted they’d made even twenty metres, so far. Yet her ankle felt like she’d run a million-mile marathon. Would she make the distance?
Porter headed back to where her car had been swallowed.
‘What are you doing?’ The thought of being alone while injured and lost, brought on a fresh layer of fear like ice shattering across her skin.
‘Hiding our tracks.’ Porter swept at the dust all around the car including his own footprints, while walking backwards to her position on the rise in the pebbly shoal. ‘In case Siri comes back, he’ll think we drowned.’
‘In dust.’ She shuddered, rubbing over her bare arms, feeling the layer of dirt coating her skin. ‘I’d never heard of such a thing. In Egyptian pyramids, maybe. Or in some horror movie. But not out here.’
‘Bulldust has taken out stacks of vehicles. I’ve seen it plenty of times as an outback cop.
I’ve even buried the patrol car once, not as deep as your car.
But I got whiplash, and a seatbelt burn, when the airbag exploded in my face.
Ever since then, I’ve been wary whenever the bulldust settles too smoothly, like glass. I know it’s a trap.’
Pity she hadn’t seen it. Or listened to Porter back when there was still bitumen beneath the tyres. Now she had the joy of zigzagging through the scrub, hobbling in her ballgown that, somehow, still sparkled under the stars.
Beside her, Porter trudged on in his ruined suit and tie.
‘Where are we going? You must have a plan.’ Hopefully his knowledge of Dixby Downs would help.
‘There’s a waterhole west of here.’ Porter nodded towards the horizon. ‘Few clicks, give or take.’
‘Long walk.’