March 11th
In the dawn light, I touch the ash on the cold ground beside me. The gun is still here. I lean over and pick a sliver of cold flesh off the lizard carcass, chew it slowly.
You’re gone.
The binoculars are still here, the towels, everything we brought with us.
I take the gun and, picking my way through the grasses, stand at the edge of the pool. The early-morning light falling on the surface turns it pale green, and tiny fish dart like rays of underwater sun. I look down and open the barrel of the gun; there are no more bullets. Time to let it go.
I wade into the water, then dive down towards the cave, feeling the bubbles from the spring against my face. I stretch my arms out to the rock ledge, and see the cave below, then the rocks and underwater roots that could be perfectly positioned to secure something precious. I drop the gun deep into the pool’s depths and imagine it sinking to a place far below, where fish will nibble at it, and where it will be safe and hidden, inside the heart of the Separates.
Gone.
I press my feet against the side of the pool for traction andangle a large root across the spring’s entrance, leaving enough space for bubbles to rise, but nothing else. Then I swim back, breathe the dawn air deeply, and push myself out.
I keep watching for you as I wind through the Separates, climbing higher. I can still feel your breath on the back of my neck, your eyes on mine. I imagine you going back to the house, finally deciding to help fix it up, repair the roof, sweep that dead snake away or connect the gas cylinder to the stove.
I climb faster. I’m almost at the top of the rock, above the treeline of the Separates; soon I’ll be able to look back at the house, and at everything around. I drop the binoculars around my neck so it’s easier to clamber higher. A brown falcon flaps off ahead of me, soaring over the rocks towards the sand dunes. When I finally turn and look down, I see the house, the expanse of red dust threaded with the broken piping, and the car. Still there.
I can’t see any movement around the house. I turn, scanning the sand and scrub, then use the binoculars to look further. The only sound is the shriek of the raptor flying off, and the rustle of leaves around me.
I lean back against the rock, shielding my eyes as the sun gets brighter. I blink when I see a dust devil, far away on the access track. Dust devils don’t usually follow a man-made track; they whirl across the sand, growing as they gather more grains. I wait for this one to veer off across the red sand. When it doesn’t, I hold the binoculars up to my eyes. It’s definitely dust I can see, a lot of it, but whether it’s caused by a dust devil or something else, I can’t tell.
If it’s a car, I should find you, hide you.
I start to scramble back down, the rock’s smooth surface already heating up against my skin. I descend into the tree cover, breathing in the tobacco scent of bloodwood sap, and grasping its sticky bark, already thinking of worst scenarios of who might be coming. Police? The mining owners of this land? It was only a matter of time—we both said it.
I scoot down the boulder, grabbing onto branches, the binoculars clunking against the rock and my collarbone. It’s probably just a mine truck, not coming anywhere near here. Soon, I’ll see the fluorescent flag bobbing on the hood. I imagine you shaking your head at me and saying,I told you there was a mine site nearby.I’ll watch it drive on down that straight track.
Just a mine truck. It’s amazing, really, that we haven’t seen one before.
But as I walk back down the path between the rocks, I remember our words from last night:If someone finds us together, we’re both screwed.
I grab what we left beside the pool, kick dust over the fire. On the long stretch of sand before the house, I follow the old water pipe in, remembering how amazing it was when it carried the spring water to us. It was all ingenious, what you did here, how you made something out of nothing. But it was also ingenious how the land took it back, covering the plastic pipe with plants, hiding animals in its crevices. Everything always has its time.
I step up onto the veranda. No sound from inside. Through the binoculars, I check the access track and find the dust devil easily enough, although now it looks more like a dust cloud. I move the binoculars down to see what’s underneath.
A car.
No flag bobbing.
It’s hard to be certain with the dust and the distance, but I don’t think it’s a mine truck.
Down the corridor, past the snake and into the bedroom. You’re not on the bed. You’re not anywhere.
‘There’s a vehicle!’ I shout. To nobody.
It’s hopeless. You’re gone. There’s just me.
I run back out to the veranda, peer through the binoculars again. Definitely a vehicle. White. No mine flag. But it could have lost its flag, or never had one in the first place. It’s sure to keep driving to the mine. It won’t turn down here.
But what if it does? I could take the car, but where would I drive it? The only way I know out is the access track, and there’s a vehicle there. I’ll sit tight. That vehicle isn’t coming down here; it’s not coming for us. I lose sight of it for a moment—it could be in a dip, or stopped, or even driving off the track in another direction. I pull the binoculars down and squint into the distance.
You’ve been gone a while.
I blink, see you in the bed, then see you fixing the water pipe, then walking with your long, sure stride back to the Separates, lithe as a shadow. I blink the images away. I need water. But I can’t go back to the pool now to refill. Not with this vehicle coming. Not with you missing.
Again, I look through the binoculars. The dust cloud is closer. The vehicle has turned off the access track into the scrubland. It’s coming this way. Perhaps you saw it this morning and went straight into hiding. You could be deep inside the rocks, surrounded by that ancient art.
I pick up the spade that still has your blood on it and wipeit clean with the little water I have. Then I tidy the house as best I can. The iron, cordless from where you sliced it, is still lying in the sand. I pick it up, wipe it clean of your blood too, and leave it in direct sunlight, metal side up. When it’s properly hot, maybe I’ll use it to press your suit straight again.
I wait.
Until, through the binoculars, I see a white four-wheel drive tipping and lurching through the scrub towards me, fluorescent stripes down the side, along with the word POLICE.
Shit.
I stay on the veranda, waiting for the vehicle to come for me.