Bloodwood Creek by Kerry McGinnis

Author:Kerry McGinnis [McGinnis, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781761340499
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

19

We didn’t stop to discover whether the stranger was behind us or had taken the other road. Never before had I wished so much for speed, but the track made anything beyond a pedestrian ten and occasionally fifteen kilometres an hour impossible. More worryingly, we came to and crossed a number of small, flowing creeks. The water was only shallow but we needed low-range to negotiate the banks where the track had degenerated into channels gouged by the rains; still, we crossed them easily enough. They weren’t the problem, but the larger watercourse into which they must flow surely would be. If we couldn’t get across that, we would have to turn back.

Then the whole issue became superfluous. Just as dusk was falling, the vehicle came to a stop as if a giant hand had grabbed it. Ben engaged the lowest gear and revved the motor, but the vehicle remained stationary.

He swore in a tone of extreme irritation and climbed out.

I followed him, saying worriedly, ‘What is it?’

‘Oh, that’s just bloody lovely,’ he exploded. ‘We’re hung up on a rock.’ He sighed out a breath and killed the motor. ‘All right. Of course it had to happen just when a man can scarcely see the bastard thing, but we can fix this. If we jack it up, I should be able to shift the rock, or at least lower it. It’s not catching by much.’

‘How come the front axle cleared it?’ I wondered aloud.

‘Twist of the wheel, or Blind Freddy’s luck.’ He was rummaging in the back to produce a jack. Fitting the two pieces of the handle together, he said, ‘Can you chock the front wheels?’

I did so, checking the vehicle was in gear and the handbrake on, as he stretched out on the rocky ground to push himself under it. The last of the daylight leached through the scrub, the birds and the flies were still and the only sound was the scrape of Ben’s body against the earth and sough of a little breeze. The only sound . . . With a jolt I remembered the other vehicle and listened with all my being, relaxing only when the night remained silent. Well, thank God for that. Raising my voice, I said, ‘He’s gone, Ben! I can’t hear a thing.’

An irate ‘What?’ came from under the car. I repeated my words and he grunted.

‘Good. Can you take a look in the glovebox? See if there’s a trouble light there. It’s as black as the inside of a bloody coffin under here.’

We were there for hours. With the small bright light fixed to the chassis, Ben worked and swore at the rock, grunting as he wielded the shovel and tyre-lever, attempting to lift it out of its bed and then, when that failed, to scrape away the rubble surrounding it to lower it enough to clear the axle. Lying on his side, it was impossible for him to bring his full strength to the task and when he had shifted what he could, he lay back with a groan.

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