Matt Eaton - Blank

The gunfire had stopped.

“How’re you doing?” Bell called to him.

“I’m done.”

“Stone’s been hit,” the pilot informed him as he snaked his way into the driver’s seat and tried to start the car. Amazingly, the engine fired.

“OK go,” Pat yelled. He began pushing on the wrecked front end with all his strength. It rocked back and forward a few times then began reversing toward the road. There was a terrible scraping noise coming from the diff but the old Ford wasn’t beaten yet.

When he knew the tyres were on bitumen Bell swung the tail of the wagon toward the guardhouse, hoping the rear door would offer them some protection from the gunfire.

Pat caught sight of the gunman standing over Luckman, who was sprawled on the road in a pool of blood.

The car ground to a halt. He guessed Bell had just seen the same thing in the rear-view mirror.

For an awful moment no-one moved. Then the guard stepped over Luckman and began advancing on them. He lifted the rifle to open fire.

The car didn’t move. Pat was totally exposed. The guard kept walking, firing off another round. It pinged off the tail gate. Pat caught his first proper glimpse of the attacker’s face. But it was a violation, an impossibility.

Bell began to rev the car loudly as if to taunt the guard who fired again and again as the station wagon started roaring backwards straight toward him. The sniper seemed so ridiculously sure of himself he didn’t even attempt to get out of the way. The wagon struck him hard and Pat heard a sickening squelch of flesh and bone being rent by steel. The guard was thrown backwards through the air, the rifle torn from his grip. His broken body hung in space for a moment then slapped down on the tarmac like roadkill.

The wagon had stopped less than a metre from where Luckman lay on the road. Pat was at his side almost before the guard’s body had hit the ground. He was still breathing but he’d been shot in the neck and had lost a lot of blood. He was too heavy for Pat to carry on his own. Bell grabbed his legs and together they carried him back to the car, placing him up next to Mel, who had ignominiously folded over on herself, her head in her lap. She looked dead. They sat her up again and leaned her on Luckman’s shoulder. His eyes were open and he was snatching breath in blood-curdling gasps. Bell climbed back behind the wheel and he floored it as soon as Pat joined him in the front passenger seat.

“They need a hospital,” said Pat, feeling sure he was stating the obvious.

“We won’t get far on three wheels,” said Bell.

“Get us down the road a bit and I’ll pull out the other spare.”

Within a few hundred metres the guard house had disappeared from view. The car complained bitterly and the going was slow but at least they were moving. Pat was aware the car could give up the fight at any moment but he wanted more distance between them and their attackers. If anyone gave chase now they’d be sitting ducks. He’d said it, but at the time he hadn’t believed it with quite this much conviction.

“No sign of anyone,” Bell confirmed. “Should we stop?”

The Stuart Highway turnoff was still a few clicks ahead of them but Pat figured they had to risk it. They would move much more quickly with four wheels.

“OK, but stay on the bitumen.”

“Mate, I’m keeping the engine running.”

Pat hopped out to take a look at the driver’s side wheel hub. To his utter astonishment, the wheel was undamaged.

It made no sense at all.

“Dog! No.”

It was Luckman’s voice.

Luckman was sitting bolt upright in the back seat. His face was caught in an expression of horror. Bell was trying to placate him.

“It was Dog who shot me,” he repeated.

“Calm down mate, you’ve been wounded.”

But before he had even finished speaking, Bell was not so sure. Luckman was clean, even though moments ago his fatigues and the rear of the car had been soaked in his blood. Now that blood was gone.

Pat tore open the back door. He examined Luckman from head to chest. There wasn’t a mark on him. All of his fingers were intact.

At that moment Mel – slumped against the door – lifted her head and turned slowly to face them. Both men cried out in horror like they were witnessing the rising of the dead.

The lady herself was unperturbed. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

Pat swallowed his fear and touched her neck and then her forehead. Her injuries had likewise vanished.

“Turn your head,” he urged.

She turned from one side to the other then rolled her head in a slow circle.

“Does that hurt?”

“Not at all.”

“Was I dreaming?” Luckman asked.

“I was just asking myself the same thing,” Bell replied.

Pat looked at Bell in utter bewilderment. “How about you get us out of here?”

Bell nodded. “That’s a great idea.”

By the time they reached the highway they had determined that everyone had experienced the same hallucination – it was the only word to describe it.

“How is that even possible?” Bell wanted to know.

“It’s a psychic defence system,” Mel decided.

“That’s the only thing it could possibly be,” Luckman agreed.

“Which would explain why Pat and I both saw a dead kadaitcha man shooting at us with an automatic weapon.”

“It must work on proximity,” said Mel. “The closer you get, the more intense its effect.”

“I’m guessing those effects are felt all the way to Alice Springs,” Luckman added, “because no-one in town wants to go anywhere near Pine Gap.”

“That’s true,” Pat admitted.

It seemed certain a frontal assault on the defence base would be impossible.

As they approached the turn-off to the airport Luckman tapped Bell on the shoulder. “Take us to the plane.”

“What now?” Pat inquired.

“You and I both saw that gateway – it’s out there in the desert a few clicks west of the base. If we can fly around their psychic defences maybe we can approach it from the other direction.”

Pat was about to object, then remembered the strength of Luckman’s character under fire. He smiled. Luckman tapped him on the back. “I need you to stay here. If we’re not back by tonight someone will need to tell the police and get a search party happening. I nearly died once today, I’d very much like to avoid a repeat performance.”

“Yeah, righto.”

“Mel, you did bring that video camera, didn’t you?” Luckman asked.

She picked up a bag from the footwell of the rear seat and pulled out the camera to check it. “Looks like it’s still intact.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

The desert heat haze turned the end of the runway into a misty swirl. It reminded Luckman of what awaited them at their destination.

On Luckman’s instructions, Bell tracked toward Brisbane on their initial ascent. The air space around Pine Gap was restricted and he didn’t want them to be in the tower’s line of sight when they changed course.

“All right mate, take her down.”

The pilot nosed the plane toward the desert and levelled off at 500 metres then began a slow arc that would bring them into position about 100 clicks west of Pine Gap. They were well below the regulated cruising altitude and they risked unexpected pockets of turbulence, but he wanted Bell to take them much lower.

“The compass is no good,” the pilot complained. “The magnetic field’s all over the place.”

“Can’t you use the heading indicator?”

“Not sure I trust that either, to be honest. Tell me again what we’re doing?” he inquired nervously.

“We’re looking for a better line of approach through the desert,” said Luckman.