Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [101]
“So you’re going to act illogically.”
“At least it’s something I’m good at.” The trouble with trying to charm someone who knows you well is that they become immune to it. Espy looks unmoved. “What else is there to do? We can’t go to the police. With Manheim’s influence, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re on Wanted posters all over Australia.”
That catches her off guard.
“That’s not funny. No one knew we were staying there . . .” The words trail off as she remembers the rental car. “All right, why just me? The car is in your name.”
“It’ll take them some time because of the fire, but a forensics team will find three bodies. For a while, at least, they’ll think that one of them is me. That just leaves the beautiful dark-haired woman who will likely turn up on surveillance cameras at the rental agency, and then they’ll get your name from the Qantas manifest.”
The curses that fly from her mouth, regardless of her newly touted religious faith, are in her native language, and by the time she’s done I’m sweating. She hops down from the tailgate and stalks off, kicking a rock in her path. It careens over the uneven ground, striking the pile of rocks behind which the lizard disappeared.
It’s going to be a long drive.
Two hours’ worth of ground that can only be called a road by someone with a generous disposition has passed beneath us, with the sun beating down at us through the windshield. And Espy’s stewing during the trip has made the truck’s cab more confining than I’d like. I’ve tried the radio a number of times, but we’re so far from civilization at this point that every station produces nothing but static.
We’ve reached a ridgeline—successive plateaus that act as buffers between the desert and the mountains. Foliage dots the rugged landscape, yet the barrenness of the place is only made more evident with the presence of a few scattered bushes and hardy plants. The only wildlife I’ve seen has been carrion birds, circling high on the dry desert winds. It looks as if they’re following us, tracking our progress through an area where things die with regularity. I consider it a bad omen. I look down at the gas gauge. It’s just over half full, and it’s my only real concern right now, even though there’s a second tank waiting in reserve.
“I’d guess it’s about three more hours before we cut east below MacDonnell, and it looks like there’s a road that runs along the base. And there’s a town right before we turn south toward Adelaide, where we can get gas and some supplies.”
“With what money?”
“I thought we could trade your boots. They’re worth two hundred, right?” The punch that connects with my arm tells me that was the wrong thing to say, and I don’t know if it is karma doing its business, or if the birds have jinxed me, but a red light appears on the control panel and I feel the truck lurch with some slip in the engine.
“No, you don’t,” I mutter as I ease up on the gas. But the Check Engine light stays on, and I smell something sickly sweet. Now I’m the one who’s cursing. We cover less than a hundred yards before the truck loses power and I give the steering wheel a single brutal punch. When we stop rolling, the silence is deafening. I refuse to look in Esperanza’s direction.
Above us, through the tint on the upper portion of the windshield, I see three birds making lazy circles.
I wake to the sound of Esperanza snoring. It’s still dark and the desert air has cooled to the point where I’m uncomfortable. Overhead, the tarp blocks my view of the stars, and I like to think it also discourages the carrion scavengers from making any advances. The fire has burned down so that only a faint glow remains. We used two of the pieces of wood we brought with us, which leaves two more for tonight’s fire, provided we need one. And provided we last that long. It was difficult to leave so much wood back at the truck, but there was no way we could carry any more with us, along