Lead Us Not by Abbey Lay

Author:Abbey Lay [Lay, Abbey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781761340697
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

I was aware that I was horizontal. I felt my shoulder spasm, then realised that I was being shaken. My vision was blurry. I felt something warm and liquid running down my left arm, or perhaps my chest. Stones pressed uncomfortably into my back and circles passed above me. I could make out the rough features of a man hovering above my face, but I struggled to place him.

When my thoughts reassembled, I realised that I had passed out. I was lying on the track, a crowd around me. My arm was covered in blood, and Jess kneeled over it, dabbing at the gash with white gauze. She gave an apologetic murmur as I felt the searing pain of antiseptic on my skin.

‘Can you hear me?’ Mr Scott spoke in a low, urgent voice.

‘Yes.’ My lips were cracked and I struggled to speak.

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘Yes. In the Kimberley on a hike.’

‘What’s the date?’

‘I don’t know. June something?’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Millie Swan.’

‘Alright. That’s good. Don’t worry, it looks like you didn’t hit your head too hard. Olive says she was just behind you and managed to catch you on the way down. She couldn’t save your arm though.’ Mr Scott had wide, blue eyes and sparse eyebrows, his skin tanned like a walnut shell. He held a green energy chew and a plastic drink bottle in his hands. ‘Fantastic wound you’ve got there. We’re just going to wait here for a little while until you can sit up.’

Something inside me was gloopy, like my organs were disconnecting and merging. I could feel Jess wrapping up my arm, applying firm, even pressure. She secured the bandage with a metal clip, zipping up the first-aid kit after it was done and placing it in her daypack. Olive’s hand had not left my shoulder.

Once my vision steadied, Olive and Jess helped me to my feet. I was powdered in dust. My left wrist and arm were throbbing, but I felt that I could walk.

I placed one foot after the other, swollen and painful in my boots. Jess handed me a bag of scroggin and dropped her pace to stay on my heels. I rolled sultanas around in my mouth, greasy with oil and moisture. Olive walked next to me, pulling gum leaves off the trees overhanging the path and tossing them into the scrub. It was clear that she was bored, that she resented the attention I was demanding from her.

The sun dripped over the path in front of us. Jess clip-clopped behind me. I dreaded returning to an audience at the campsite, to be stared at and fussed over, reported on. I imagined Mrs Bowling noting a minor incident in the accident and injury log, asking invasive questions of me in front of others. I felt something knuckle inside my chest, hard like a kernel. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. This procession was pathetic. I was pathetic.

‘You don’t have to stay with me,’ I said. I gritted my teeth and clamped my lips into what I hoped was a nonchalant expression.

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