‘Going to be some bloody hunt,’ Raco said, putting the phone to his ear. ‘Best hiding place in the world out there.’
The search and rescue crews formed up shoulder to shoulder, a splash of high-vis orange along the bushland track. The gums were whispering and rattling overhead as the wind tore through. Gusts whipped up the dust and grit, forcing them to squint and shield their eyes. At their backs, Kiewarra sprawled out, squat and shimmering under its heat haze.
Falk took his place in the line. It was midday, and already he could feel the sweat pooling under his reflective vest. To his side, Raco was grim-faced.
‘Radios on, ladies and gents,’ the search and rescue crew leader called through a megaphone. ‘And it’s tiger snake territory here so watch your feet.’
Overhead, a chopper wapped hot air down. The leader gave the word and the orange line stepped forward almost as one. The bushland closed behind them, swallowing them tight. Towering gums and thick scrub growth separated the team as they delved deeper, and within a few paces Falk could see only Raco to his left and one orange jacket in the distance to his right.
Probe searching, the leader had explained to them with definite impatience. Good for dense bush. The searchers would line up and each walk directly into the bush ahead, checking along their own line until their path was blocked.
‘Theory is if we can’t get through, your principal’s not about to either. You get blocked, you turn around and come back to the path,’ the leader had said, thrusting a jacket at Falk. ‘Just keep your eyes open. It can get hairy in there.’
Falk pushed onward. It was strangely silent apart from the crackle of dry twigs underfoot and the wind whipping through the branches. The sun was high and white, forcing its way through occasional gaps in the trees like a searchlight. Even the noise of the chopper seemed muffled as it swooped high overhead like a bird of prey.
Falk stepped cautiously, the patchy sunlight playing tricks on the ground. He wasn’t completely sure what signs he should be looking for, and felt sick at the thought of missing them. He hadn’t done a full-scale bush search since his police training. But he’d spent enough time among these trees when he was younger to know they dragged you in far more easily than they let you go.
A heavy bead of sweat stung the corner of his eye and he wiped at it impatiently. The minutes ticked on. Around him, the trees seemed to get closer together with every step, and Falk found himself having to lift his feet higher as he waded through the tall grass. Straight ahead, he could see a thicket, sprawling and overgrown. Even from that distance it looked tangled and impassable. He was nearly at the end of his line. No Whitlam.
He took his hat off and ran a hand over his head. No shouts of success had made their way along the row of searchers. The radio on his belt was silent. Had they missed him? The image of Luke lying flat on his back in his ute flashed in Falk’s head. He put his hat back on and pushed forward, forcing a path through the overgrowth towards the thicket. The going was slow and he’d gained only a few metres when he felt a stick bounce off his jacket.
Falk looked up in surprise. Some distance to his left and a few paces ahead, Raco had stopped and turned towards him. He was holding his finger to his lips.
‘Whitlam?’ Falk mouthed silently.
‘Maybe,’ Raco mouthed back, raising one hand in an uncertain gesture. He lifted his radio to his lips and murmured something.
Falk scanned the surrounds for any other splash of orange. The nearest searcher was a distant spot behind a curtain of trees. Falk crept towards Raco, wincing as his footsteps crunched loudly against the undergrowth.
He looked to where his friend was pointing. A fallen log had created a hollow in front of the thicket. Barely visible but so very out of place against the backdrop, something pink and fleshy peeped out. Fingertips. Raco pulled out his police issue pistol.
‘I wouldn’t.’ Whitlam’s voice floated out from the log. He sounded oddly calm.
‘Scott, mate, it’s us.’ Falk forced himself to match the tone. ‘Time to give it up. There are fifty people in here looking for you. Only one way out.’
Whitlam’s laugh floated up.
‘There’s always more than one way out,’ he said. ‘Jesus, you cops lack imagination. Tell your mate to pocket his weapon. Then he can get back on that radio and tell the others to back off.’
‘Not going to happen,’ Raco said. His pistol was aimed at the log, steady in his hands.
‘It is,’ Whitlam stood up suddenly. He was filthy and sweaty, with a web of fine scratches standing out purple against his ruddy cheek. ‘Steady there,’ he said, ‘you’re on camera.’
Whitlam pointed one finger overhead to where the police chopper loomed against the cloudless sky. It appeared and disappeared against the gaps in the treetops as it circled in a wide arc. Falk wasn’t sure if it had seen them. He hoped so.
Whitlam suddenly thrust his arm out straight in front of him like a low Nazi salute, and took a step away from the log. He was clutching something in his fist.
‘Stay back,’ he said, rotating his hand. Falk caught a first glint of metal and his brain screamedgun, while a deeper part flitted frantically, trying to process what he was seeing. Raco tensed next to him. Whitlam unfolded his hand finger by finger, and Falk’s breath left his chest. He heard Raco groan long and deep. A thousand times worse than a gun.
It was a lighter.
Chapter Forty
Whitlam flicked the lighter open and the flame danced dazzling white against the dull bushland. It was the stuff of nightmares. It was a tangled parachute, failed brakes on the motorway. It was a premonition, and Falk felt the fear flood from his core until it prickled against his skin.
‘Scott –’ Falk started, but Whitlam held up a single finger in warning. It was an expensive lighter, the kind that stayed lit until it was closed manually. The flame shivered and danced in the wind.
In one movement, Whitlam reached down and whipped a small flask out of his pocket. He flipped off the cap and took a sip. His eyes never leaving theirs, he tilted the flask and poured a trickle of the amber liquid on the ground around him. The whiskey vapours hit Falk a moment later.
