Matt Eaton - Blank

“Follow that blackfella,” Pat cackled.

The road twisted and curved through the next line of hills and Luckman noted from the relative position of the sun that the trail had shifted further to the south-east. It cut neatly through a tight knot of trees.

He checked the rear-vision mirror and spotted a motorbike on the trail about a click behind them. “Someone’s following us,” he told the others.

“The plot thickens,” said Mel.

“One of the cops maybe?” Bell suggested.

Luckman took it slowly in order to get a better look at the landscape. He had begun to notice a problem with his peripheral vision. He was having trouble focusing and could feel himself slipping into a sort of fugue state. It was like being awake and dreaming at the same time. He wound down the window, hoping the rush of warm air in his face would prevent him from falling asleep at the wheel. The trees parted and the road began to widen to the left of another hilly incline. He brought the car to a halt.

“What’s wrong now?” Bell demanded.

“Dog’s up there on top of that hill,” Luckman told him.

“But the trail goes around the hill,” Bell replied.

“I can see that. You wanna argue with the spirit man?”

“Dog hasn’t led us astray yet,” Mel pointed out.

“Look at the trail,” Bell insisted. “It’s wider and smoother here than it’s been anywhere behind us. It makes no sense to leave the path now.”

“Should we take a vote?” Pat suggested.

“It’s not a bloody democracy,” Luckman bellowed. “We follow Dog.”

“Go on then,” Bell sighed wearily.

“How are your guts feeling?” Luckman inquired.

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

The hillside was rougher than the trail but the 4WD managed the ascent without a problem. From the top of the rise, they saw what they had just avoided – the track below was under water. A small lake covered the area where the trail cut through the ridge line, easily two metres deep at its low point. There is no way they could have made it through.

“I guess that’s two-nil to Dog,” Bell admitted.

The dust plume from the dirt bike on their tail was still visible, although he could no longer see the motorbike itself. More disturbingly, the blur in his peripheral vision had intensified to the point where it seriously narrowed his line of sight. He now had trouble seeing anything that wasn’t right in front of him.

He looked at his watch. He was running out of time.

Luckman was relieved to find they were able to descend quickly back to the trail as it continued along open, flat ground. They continued in silence for another few kilometres, passing a crossroad where a much wider and more clearly defined dirt road bisected the trail.

“It’s no good to us, is it?” Bell sighed.

Luckman had slowed down to make sure but he shook his head. They needed to traverse the final line of ranges – and there was a clear pass through the mountains directly in front of them. Somewhere beyond that pass lay the creek bed that would mark a course change.

They came to notice a change in the quiet hum of the desert, imperceptible at first, like the thrum of a cicada. But it began to build upon itself, rising slowly like the tide until they realised they were immersed in a harsh electronic howl that reminded Mel of a horror movie sound effect. There was something old and familiar about the sound. It was exactly the noise you might conjure in your imagination to represent a hideous monster stalking you across the landscape. It screamed “Stay Away” in all languages and all religions. It was the embodiment of human terror, and second by second it was becoming louder and more terrifying.

“We need to stop,” Bell yelled.

The motorcycle had reappeared on their tail. It was getting closer.

“No,” Luckman screamed back at him.

They leapt forward violently as Luckman pushed the car faster to get them there as rapidly as his failing eyesight would allow. They tore past the ruins of a house alongside the trail to their left. It looked like it had been bombed.

The Pine Gap perimeter fence appeared a few hundred metres ahead of them as the 4WD thumped off the trail and onto the dry creek bed. Luckman turned the wheel westward without slowing and the vehicle lurched violently.

The awful scream rattling through their skulls had devolved into the chorus of a million souls screaming in torment. Luckman began to picture the faces of the dead who came to him in nightmares.

Were they urging him to stop or to keep going?

The motorbike was a dark smudge in the dust cloud pluming behind them as the car roared along at a reckless 90 kilometres an hour. Luckman felt panic stabbing its way through his guts and guessed this was a taste of what had been gripping Bell. He searched desperately around the cabin for water. Mel instinctively reached forward with a bottle. He snatched it from her gratefully and voraciously gulped down the contents.

“Where are the military police?” asked Bell.

“Yeah, shouldn’t men with guns be chasin’ us by now?” Pat concurred.

“No-one’s out here. The base is deserted,” said Luckman. “Mel, get your camera out.”

“I’m on it,” she told him.

“So if the base is deserted what the hell are we doing here?” Bell screamed.

Luckman lacked the strength to put his thoughts into words. The furious howl in their heads was becoming excruciating. The Americans had departed the day of the Sunburst. They drove their trucks through the portal and there had been no reason for them to return. The Others had found another way to keep the people of Alice Springs alive.

“Look,” Bell pointed through the windscreen, his voice no more than a rattled whisper.

Luckman was so busy negotiating a sharp bend in the creek bed that he was the last to see it, but he heard Mel’s frightened gasp and knew it couldn’t be good. When he finally looked into the distance the shock of what he saw hit him like a javelin in the chest. He could do no more than stare open-mouthed as he choked on the impossibility. A 10-metre maelstrom of black water roared towards them up the creek bed at a phenomenal rate. Uprooted trees and boulders preceded the tsunami, wiping out everything in their path. They would be crushed like bugs in a matter of seconds.

“For Christ’s sake, reverse,” Pat finally screamed.

“No!” Luckman heard himself answer. “We keep going.”

This made no sense at all because the wall of water was almost upon them. But it was only a little further.

“Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god,” Bell cried desperately.

“Don’t look Eddie,” Luckman told him. “Mel, tell me you’re getting all of this.”

“Every insane moment,” she confirmed from behind the viewfinder.

He threw the car sharply to the right and the creek bank acted like a ramp that sent them airborne. He had reacted on instinct to avoid crashing head-on into the wall of death. The 4WD came down haphazardly on a small verge and the wheels began ripping through a knot of spinifex as Luckman juggled the steering wheel to avoid hitting a large desert oak. A road that bisected the creek was just ahead of them. He willed the car toward it as if this alone would guarantee their safety.

“I can’t see the water,” Bell reported.

“Thank God for that,” said Luckman.

“No, I mean it’s gone.”

“It was never there,” said Mel. She was busy spooling back through her footage. “It’s not on here. We imagined it.”

“Listen,” said Luckman.

“I don’t hear anything,” said Pat.

“Exactly.”

They were heading away from Pine Gap now. Judging by the silence, they had finally moved beyond the worst effects of the psychic defence system. The car sailed along the remainder of the trail like they were taking a Sunday drive in the desert wilderness until they came abruptly to a T-junction. From memory Luckman knew the teardrop loop was immediately to their right. He turned the car around and brought them to a halt pointing back the way they had come. He checked his watch.