But as she neared the entrance, her reflection in the glass doors stopped her in her tracks.There she was, a walking dust storm in a suit, hair like a bird’s nest as if coming off a big booze-bender… and behind her, a buffalo.
How did she end up like a tourist in a wildlife documentary gone wrong?When it was meant to be a simple trek to the office.
All she needed now was a David Attenborough voiceover:Here we see the unsuspecting city woman moments before she realises she’s wildly out of her depth…
Finally, she reached the entrance, the door slid back, and the cool air hit her in a wave.
But the buffalo kept on coming.
‘Out, Cecil!You know the rules.’The Aboriginal officer behind the high counter clapped her hands.The buffalo huffed, as he walked backwards out the doors, which thankfully slid shut.
Taryn could breathe again.
‘So, you’ve met Cecil.’
‘I’m assuming that’s the creature with flowers on his horns?’
‘Water buffalo.Big sook.Cecil wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless you try to shoot him, that is.’
‘Naturally…’ WTF!
The police officer, with perfectly groomed eyebrows and long lashes, blinked once.Twice.‘Can I help you?’
Taryn straightened her suit, wincing at the gritty rub of dust that was like sandpaper beneath her shirt, sticking to every patch of sweat.She smoothed her hair—or tried to—dislodging a fresh sprinkle of red dust that rained down around her shoes like confetti at a very unfortunate wedding.
Not exactly the impression she’d been aiming for.Still, Taryn lifted her chin, cleared her throat, and announced, ‘Good morning.I’m looking for a Sergeant Finn Wilde.’
‘And you are?’
‘Oh, um…’ She rummaged through her workbag, sending up a puff of red dust like she’d just upended a chalkboard eraser.‘I’m a federal investigator…’ She dragged out her laminated ID card with the flair of someone trying to pretend she hadn’t just face-planted into the outback.‘Here for the Stock Squad.’She gave a tight smile.
The receptionist’s name badge read Tanisha, the letters forAboriginal Community Police Officerhalf-obscured by fun stickers of tiny glittery cactuses and cocktail glasses.It gave the impression of someone cheerful.Yet, the receptionist’s gaze raked over Taryn like she was scanning a barcode.
‘Heard you were coming.’Like a queen ruling her kingdom from behind the front counter, Tanisha buzzed her through the security door.
To the right, a door marked OIC sat half-open, revealing a uniformed officer deep in a phone call.On the left, a large table—cluttered with half-read magazines, a closed laptop, and a chair buried under a landslide of folders—bridged the space between the back of the reception desk and a cramped kitchenette.
‘Down the hall, on the right.Finn’s there.’Then, Tanisha smirked.‘Don’t worry.He only bites when provoked.’
‘Well, okay then…’ Taryn nodded.Although in desperate need of a hairbrush and an industrial dust buster, she marched down the hallway with her heels clicking sharply on the worn lino.
The cool air did little to hide the scent of dust, coffee, and whatever secrets old paperwork held onto after decades in a filing cabinet.
She tugged her suitcase behind her, wincing at the softthud thudof its uneven wheels, half-convinced she was leaving a Hansel-and-Gretel trail of red dust.
When she reached the door it was slightly ajar.Stuck to it was a plain printout that read:
STOCK SQUAD
Beneath it, someone had scrawled in pen:
THE BATCAVE: Enter at your own risk.
Taryn brushed down her suit again—though at this point it was more symbolic than effective.But she was aiming for composed.Polished.Government-grade.Professional.
Even if it had taken the better part of two days with a flight that took her the long way around, that included three cities, and a questionable vending machine sandwich to get to the tiny tropical city of Darwin—where she’d landed just after midnight, bleary-eyed and questioning her life choices.Then five hours in a plastic airport chair with all the ergonomic charm of a cattle crate, until the mail plane took off at dawn.
What followed was a six-hour rollercoaster ride across the outback skies.Bouncing through turbulence, along with numerous take-offs and landings where the pilot chucked parcels out the door like Santa wearing a hi-vis vest, boots, and denim cut-off shorts.
