Читать книгу Outback Assault - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

Arana Wangara was jerked awake by the distant roar of guns cracking in the night. Before she could cry out in dismay, a weathered old hand covered her mouth.

“They will not see us, child,” came a rough whisper. “Sorry, Arana. I keep forgetting you’re not a child.”

Grandfather Wangara’s voice soothed her, but she wasn’t certain that the darkness was cover enough in the outback. For the first time in her eighteen years, she believed that she could die, and the realization chilled her to the bone.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, lying. Her brown eyes were wide and staring to where she could see distant flickers.

The starlit sky, spread out like broken glass on blue velvet, was obscured by the roof of the simple mud hut they’d been sleeping in. Through the doorway, the rolling, dusty terrain looked like dark, frozen waves under the glimmering night sky. With no pollution or electric lights for hundreds of miles, it was a serene, beautiful view that belied the cacophony rumbling in the distance. In the darkness, two Aboriginal tribesmen, their skins as dark as coal, were invisible. Dark-toned clothing helped conceal them under the shadows of their quickly erected hut.

Grandfather had been right to take her and leave their tiny cabin to sleep in a hidden lean-to on the edge of their property, she realized. Ever since the troubles had begun, they’d felt no safety. The sheriff was either too scared or too well bribed to bother to take an interest in the affairs of the Chinese businessmen and their real-estate “transactions” with the Aboriginal Tribal Council.

Arana wrinkled her nose, brow furrowing in frustration. She knew that those transactions had begun to include a bullet in the head and a short trip to the bottom of a shallow grave. The Chinese and their local assistants were nothing more than a pack of savages who were only interested in finding a nice, secluded spot twenty kilometers from the great Uluru mound, the mystical gateway to the Dreamtime.

Arana didn’t know about the truth of the Dreamtime, but Grandfather Wangara’s wisdom seemed to come from sources far beyond those of normal men.

“We are far from our old doorstep, and we have night’s protection,” her grandfather told her. “It would take them hours to find us.”

Her grandfather said that the Chinese would not notice them, and Arana finally felt calm until a powerful crack split the night, a mushroom of fire rising from where their home had once been. Her stomach twisted as the fireball hung lazily, illuminating the gunmen surrounding the house. The building glowed from within.

Arana closed her eyes to the sight, not wanting to see her home burned to the ground. Her grandfather’s hand rested on her shoulder, his weathered face highlighted by the glow of the inferno. She looked up and saw the tears trickle over his cheeks, but his face remained an impassive mask. His brown eyes were unfocused, a sign that he was in touch with the Dreamtime.

Arana pursed her lips and looked back. The men got into their jeeps after their act of arson, not even bothering to pick up the gasoline cans that they’d used to soak the walls. When the law was too timid to poke its nose in, what need was there to hide the evidence? Somewhere, powerful forces were at work to accommodate the Chinese.

All it meant to her was that she and her grandfather had to leave, to run away from the only home she’d ever known. It filled her with anger.

“There will come a man,” the old man whispered. “A crusader who has faced these lowly criminals before. And when he arrives, he will bring death with him, to cleanse the outback.”

Arana looked at him.

“You will meet him in Darwin. And you will know him for his eyes are as cold as a winter sky,” her grandfather said.

“Darwin? We don’t have enough money to go there, and even if we did, they would follow us,” Arana explained, confused.

“I shall not be making the journey with you. I will remain here. The Dreamtime will protect me,” Grandfather told her. “You will go on your own. And though they shall try to interfere with your journey, you will be too clever for them. But remember, your skill will expire the moment you need it most, though luck and the crusader will catch you before you fall.”

Arana swallowed hard.

Grandfather Wangara pressed a roll of money into her palm. “Go swiftly, child. Time is of the essence, and the crusader is turning his eyes to our plight even as we speak.”

Arana nodded. She grabbed her backpack and took off, running across the desert. It was twenty miles to the nearest town, and there she’d catch the bus to Alice Springs. From there, it’d be an even longer ride to Darwin.

Her grandfather, though, was rarely wrong.

On a wing, a prayer, and a healthy slice of blind faith, Arana raced toward town, staying to gullies and ruts in the sand. Dawn was seven hours away, but if she hurried, she’d be at the bus stop shortly after sunrise.