

Smashwords ISBN: 9781301319565

## The Great Empty

### A Novel

### by

### Anita Melillo

Copyright © 2012 by Anita Melillo

Smashwords ISBN: 9781301319565

All rights reserved.

### Copyright

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form. "The Great Empty" is printed in the United States.

This is a work of fiction. Any references of historical events, real

people, or real locales are used fictiously. Other names, characters,

places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and

any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Anita Melillo

Library of Congress Txu 1-848-292

Smashwords Edition: ISBN: 9781301319565

All rights reserved.

### Dedication

For Tyler, Angela, Kristan and AJ

Wherever life takes you.., always know that you are loved.

### Prologue

From the rolling uplands, swift flowing streams and wooded valleys, the Cotswolds was pleasing to the senses all throughout the year, but there was something about the onset of spring that surpassed the other seasons.

Perhaps it was the fresh scent of chamomile breezing in the dales, or the unveiling of all that had emerged from beneath the winter snow. It wasn't anything you could pinpoint exactly, but one thing was certain. It carried a newness with it that couldn't be stifled by tradition or resistance to change, and it was sure to linger around just long enough to impart new layers upon all that had perished in the bitter cold.

Velvety moss blanketed everything, concealing fragments of rock and slate-covered roof tops for miles. Lofty plateaus even gave way to the appearance of plush green mounds, as the cream colored status symbol eased its way down the goat winding paths of endless meadows.

Tourists continually journeyed the two hour distance from London and over the cobblestone streets, just to somehow taste all the imagery with their senses. There was nowhere else in the west of England that compared to Gloucestershire, and nothing had helped to shape it more than the wool industry and the rich abundance of limestone. It was part of everything and comprised the hillside villages and townships throughout.

Even the walls were stacked high with stone, dividing land and creating barriers from outsiders and holding those within captive to its charm, including the Winthrop's.

As they approached the ornate gatehouse, it heralded their arrival with a warm brilliance in contrast to the melancholy backdrop of noonday haze. That was because the grounds weren't built of gray stone like many of the other Jacobean manors throughout the village, but out of yellow guiting stone, which mellowed with age into a rich golden color. It was the exportation of this glorious stone, along with the production of wool that had brought such prosperity to the Winthrop's estate in the 1700's.

When most sheep farmers and cloth manufacturers eventually lost out to bigger industry, the Winthrop's continued to flourish with the quarry. And it had taken several decades for the supply to begin to diminish enough to make the union aroused.

It wasn't that Allister didn't want to meet their demands, but the figures just didn't add up. And to a long-term investor, it meant a possible loss, without an all out structural reorganization of his resources and time.

Plus, with his brother, Yancey, doing so well with mineral deposits in Australia, and Elizabeth constantly pushing for a much needed change, it was time to consider other options before taking on a new venture; if not for his own sake, then at least for his families.
Chapter One

They had entered a tunnel which led to an underground cavern with barely enough head room to stand at full height. With the flames of the fire licking the top of the clay ceiling, it was fast becoming so hot that Donovan was gasping for a fresh breath of air, while digging with the small hand pick into the hard wall.

The bustard was cooked through and the unseasoned juices dripped onto the coals, filling he smoky hole with the smell of burning flesh. As each stroke became more labored than the last, he couldn't refrain from dropping the pick to hold his stomach.

For a second, the swagman looked concerned, but it passed as soon as he tore off a hind quarter and tossed it at him.

Donovan dodged to keep the unwanted portion from searing his leg.

"Eat up," the swagman growled as he took a can of beans from the roll and peeled back the lid.

Donovan kicked it away from him. "You eat it," he said defiantly as he scooted further away.

The swagman probed his victim carefully, as though premeditating the best angle to strike. "Better watch it, kid. Makes no difference to me whether you're conscious or not. I'll get what I came for one way or the other. Something has to make up for this detour."

Hot release rose up Donovan's spine. His vulnerability was still too great from where he sat.

"Look, mister. If it's money you want, my father has plenty—more than you could ever mine out of this rat hole," he said.

The man stabbed his knife at the red dirt. "And what makes you think it's enough?... What did you ever do to become so valuable?"

"I know my father. He would give whatever it took," Donovan tried to keep a straight face and hoped that it were true.

"For some limp wristed little pomme with an attitude? You Brits beat all, thinkin' that just because you got a little more than the next guy, it makes you more human. You don't know nothin', especially when it comes to us Aussies Take Ned Kelly. Now that was a real man."

"I see your point," Donovan continued to dig without expression. "You remind me of him."

"What do you mean by that?" he snapped curiously.

"Well," Donovan pondered, hoping that his tutoring in history would come in handy. "He may have lived in the 1800's, but a bushranger all the same. Made out to be some kind of Robin Hood when all he really did was rob people blind, and took whole towns hostage at a time."

"He was a hero," the swagman said hastily.

"Yep," sighed Donovan. "I guess that's why he was hanged in his twenties And the way I see it, you're a little past your prime," he gripped the pick tight.

Before the madman even thought to respond, he flung the knife at Donovan's head, who ducked just in time as it stabbed the wall behind him.

Scrambling away on his hands and knees, he headed for the opening as the swagman leapt over the fire after him. Donovan stabbed the pick into his leg and kept on going. The man screeched in agony as he limped off after him. It was either run or die

It was just a few days earlier that all seemed normal with his family. They had gone through their usual Sunday routine of being bored at church. Donovan always had pretended to care, but his actions always showed otherwise.

Against the backdrop of the stained glass Abbey stood two young sinners of the declaring kind. Other's tried to ignore the brassy chaps, but no one dared to tell them any different. It was the usual reckoning that began with a twist of her hair or a tug at the back of his pants that ensued the battle, however, others rarely escaped the crossfire. The delicate nature of those occupying the space around them might have nurtured their situation, but it wasn't their concern.

"Snap..," went the flipping of a rubber band against his sister's elbow as they stood side by side along the pew. She recoiled and grabbed his right thumb and twisted it backwards.

He yelped, "Ouch!", but few heard him above the thunderous bass of the pipe organ as it reverberated off the gothic arched ceiling of the seventeenth century Abbey. And the choir, along with the congregation, sang in melodious unison the old hymn, "Faith of Our Fathers". That is, everyone except for Donovan Winthrop.

The pained twelve-year-old purposely voiced each word before everyone else and he agonized loudly over the high notes. He even pinched his younger sister Viola so that she would screech right along with him. The only difference being – she really was in pain.

A month earlier he had been dismissed from the boy's choir for doing as much. The choir director had told him repeatedly to sing like he meant it, while Donovan's reply remained fixed on a simple, "I am." After all, he was only telling the truth. He couldn't help it if his translation was different than everyone else's. But of course, trouble always followed.

Preston, the well weathered family chauffeur and occasional guardian, was the only thing that usually stood between him and destiny, other than his father's unrelenting rebuke.

"That's quite enough now. Please take a seat," the old man reprimanded as the wrinkles twitched tightly around his mouth.

"All right," he gave his usual shrug, sending his blonde bangs aloft as he collapsed onto the hard wooden bench.

Glad to see him go down, Viola gave a quick smirk while she continued to sing, before glancing up to her mother, who was gracefully giving apologetic smiles to neighboring parishioners.

However, it didn't take very long for Donovan to find another outlet for his harnessed frustration at the slow ticking clock. There was a lead pencil in the pew rack in front of him, which had a big eraser, but no paper. So he had to settle for making artful impressions of his teeth around it, until most of the yellow paint had chipped off. When the task of removing the tiny flakes from his tongue had grown old, he began springing the eraser head back and forth, testing its flexibility.

The domino effect of hymnals being dropped into pew racks sent him slanting sideways to look through the weave of fancy hats, which had hedged at eye level, just to see the podium.

Then in a still and solemn manner that exuded wisdom, the Minister rose to stand behind the gold-leafed dais. With a deep voice as shaky, but yet sure, as the solid panes of beveled glass, he meticulously pondered over each drawn-out syllable when he spoke, "As we assemble here in the presence of Almighty God.., may we temporarily lose sight of that which holds us bondage.., in remembrance of what made our heritage and our country.. the pillar of society it is today.., the faith of our fathers"

Suddenly, the end of the eraser snapped off, sailed through the air and landed in the perfectly teased hair of the distinguished widow, Lady Attwood.

Feeling the slight impact, she gave a jovial spin to see if anything was amiss.

Donovan's reaction was typical. At once, he slumped into the pew and placed his hands over his mouth to keep from snickering out loud. The only person she noticed staring back was Preston, returning the smile with his face flustered red in embarrassment.

Her expression virtually changed from pleasant concern to a discreet but flirtatious grin, which made Preston so nervous that he bellowed out a series of broken coughs and excused himself from the service in the process.

Viola turned to Donovan and said, "I'm going to tell Father how you disgraced Lady Attwood."

He grinned, "You do.., and I'll tell Mother I caught you trying on her knickies."

More frustrated than timid, the strawberry freckles gathered sharply between her eyes, "You wouldn't!"

Then a woman, whose disposition was more stale than week old pumpernickel, leaned forward from behind and went, "Shhh!..."

This time both heads of adolescence disappeared beneath the wooden barrier. But their parents, Allister and Elizabeth, looked on.

After everyone had stood reverently to recite the Lord's Prayer, the service came to a close. Then as if he had been released on a six day furlough, Donovan made an unshackled dash for the front door and out to the beige Bentley, where Preston shoved the bottle beneath the driver's seat just in time. As soon as he sprayed his breath with mint freshener, the heavy rear door slammed shut.

"I could have gotten that for you, sir," he dutifully, but off-handedly offered. It was an exasperating post he held.

"Nah," waved Donovan. "Give it a rest," he replied as he got lost in the deep tan leather of the back seat, pushing buttons to the electric windows and door-locks.

"Isn't there anything else you can toy around with?" the guardian questioned in aggravation.

Donovan replied, "I guess I can listen to music," as he took his red backpack from the floor and pulled out his cellphone with an ear piece. He scanned the screens with his finger until he got to his music selections, and then pressed for some industrial punk. As it started blaring in his eardrum, Preston could hear it from the front seat, as Donovan jerked his shoulders and head to and fro in the backseat."

"My battery is almost dead," he yelled forward. "Remind me to charge it when we get home!"

Preston scoffed, "Oh, do be sure to charge it boy, I can't imagine what you'd do without it." He gave some encouragement, as he anxiously tapped the steering wheel with one hand, while courteously tilting his gray monogrammed cap to those passing by, all the while hoping that the rest of the family would join them soon. Real soon.

Viola remained close to her mother's side, while she and her father socially greeted other members.

"So, Winthrop," a hard-bearing dark eyed acquaintance addressed him. "Is the quarry keeping you a good man these days?"

The insinuation was planted deep.

"Your timing is impeccable," Allister replied sternly, trying to avoid a confrontation. "First it was my father's burial.., and now the house of God. Surely, you'll stop at nothing to win your gain."

"Don't get pious with me," the man's voice was full of empathy and reproach. "Why, I've known your family since you were ye high. And you've never been one to let a good deal sour, especially on the Sabbath."

Even though it was true, Allister turned his back on his accuser with a breath of fueled air and took Elizabeth by the arm.

"Rumor has it the union is prepared to strike..," the man pressed on, a little louder and less conspicuous than before.

Being careful to conceal the snarl that was taking over his face, Allister turned back around. "And since when do you represent the Union, Dillinger?"

"Why, I've always taken an active interest in my fellow man," he laughed, giving him a slap on the back that would have been befitting of an old chum.

"Yes, well.., save it for the altar," he snapped back.

Elizabeth interrupted, "Please darling, we do have a plane to catch."

"Of course, love," he responded, grateful for the cue.

"It's not the last you'll be hearing from me on this," the voice trailed behind them.

"Pity," Allister forced a gentlemanly nod and they left the building.

Soon they had joined Preston and Donovan in the car, with Allister in the front seat and Viola between her mother and Donovan in the back.

"That bloody, bumbling, belligerent fool..," Allister cursed. "Who does he think I am anyway, someone totally bereft of dignity?

Why, I could buy that blasted quarry twenty times over if I wanted to!"

Viola squealed, "Mother, Donovan's licking the glass!" always the snitch.

Elizabeth's thoughts were with her husband though, as she responded from the back seat. "Must we discuss this in front of the children? Besides, he has made us a fair offer, and I think we should at least consider it. You've said yourself how nice it would be to simply shut it down."

"You can't be serious?! That was only in jest," he rubbed his eyes and readjusted his glasses. "Anyway, shutting it down is one thing, but selling out is quite another. Dispossess the family empire? I wouldn't hear of it!"

"Need I remind you then, that it's yours alone and it's not even an empire—it's a business. Yancey relinquished his share and reinvested long before your father died. And I might add.., is doing quite well. He's his own man, Allister." She caught a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror and began toiling away with her bangs at his unwillingness to see reason.

"And I suppose you're implying that I'm not?" the anger rose in his voice.

"I'm not implying anything," Elizabeth sighed, exhausted from the fight that had gone on for months now. "It's just that..," she sincerely stressed, "we have more at this very moment than we, or our children, could possibly spend in a lifetime. How much is enough, Allister? And when do we actually get to start enjoying the benefits of being so secure?"

However, rather than replying, he seemed lost in the insatiable quest that had summed up his whole existence to this point. Instead, he just looked forward in a numbed gaze, as his eyes followed closely the details of the pavement and not the road ahead.

Miss Lucia had only been with the house staff for five years, but she was an endeared hostess and caregiver. Even though her simple black uniform and dirty-blonde honey-bun hairstyle conformed to the rest of the motif, she was still very attractive, which didn't go unnoticed to pubescent Donovan. Sometimes he tried to show her how much he thought of her, as any other crafty young lad might.

"More wine, sir?" she asked Mr. Winthrop as a dot of lime-green went flying past, clinging to a silver serving pitcher.

Naturally, Viola complained, "Father, Donovan's flipping peas again!"

The veins leading away from Allister's temples swelled with impatience as he spat, "No thank you, Miss Lucia," and "Donovan, eat your veal!"

When Miss Lucia glanced over to Donovan, he gave her a secretive wink and danced his eyebrows intriguingly at her, but she overlooked his mischief and began clearing away the unused portions and emptied dishes.

However, the reprimand did little to hinder him from voicing his opinion. He was used to his father's rhetoric, and had learned early on that the sting usually ended short of his tongue. As far back as he could remember, their conversations rarely went beyond what he provoked.

"I don't want to go to Australia!" he argued, not really meaning it, but up for another conquest of attitude.

"Why the dickens not?" his father responded, perplexed by his son's stubbornness. "You've never been there before. So how can you be so set against something you've never experienced?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the irony of what he was saying.

"Because I don't want to play silly ol' dolls with Viola and Marcy," he whined. "That's all she knows how to do is play sissy stuff."

Viola stuck her tongue out at him.

This called for plastered on appeal. "Well, think of it as an adventure, son. It's practically summer all year round there, and Preston may be up to taking you to the zoo.., or something."

"Twiddle dee dee..," Donovan twirled one finger in the thick mass of humility and mumbled, "What jolly fun we'll have."

"Anywho, it will only be for one week," his father said flatly.

In a mirrored image, Donovan too, plastered on a smile in momentary quiet discontent.

When his father's nose was buried in the bottom of his wine glass, he slid the piece of veal from his plate and into his coat pocket. Then he pulled something black from his backpack and onto his lap.

"Finished," he declared. "May I be excused?"

"What's the code word?" his mother asked as though it was required discipline.

Reading them both like yesterday's comics, he exposed all of his pearly whites and grinned, "Pleeease!"

"Very well then, run along and change. We'll be leaving in twenty minutes," she excused him from the table.

As he started to get up with an arm extended low, however, a flash was made evident from below the table as Miss Lucia leaned over to retrieve a carafe. Then a motorized wind sounded that ejected the picture. Donovan grinned and started to hurry off with it.

His father halted him in his tracks. "What did you just do, Donovan? And where the bugger did you find that damn thing?!" he shouted.

"I found it in the attic," he replied matter-of-factly. "It was among some boxes of photographs and momentos from ages ago."

Allister was again perturbed. "And who gave you permission to go snooping through my things? You have a camera of your own and what you just did was highly inappropriate!"

"Sorry," he drooped his head downward with complete insincerity. "But may I keep it for a while? It's the first one I've ever seen. It's crazy amazing how it shoots the photo's out the end!"

"That's because it's a Kodak Polaroid camera and they probably don't even make them anymore," Allister sighed wearily. "So I suppose it doesn't really matter after all. As soon as you run out of film, there's no more harm to be done. So I guess you can hold onto it for now, but you must first apologize to Miss Lucia and give her the photo you just took," he demanded. "Did I make myself perfectly clear?!"

"Of course, Father," he handed Miss Lucia the photograph.

She snatched it from his hand and peeled back the thin black liner of the picture and winced at what she saw. Then she glared at him and shook her finger directly at him as a threat.

"I just wanted something to remember you by while I'm away. You are so beautiful," he grinned.

She snapped back with a harsh whisper, "That wasn't my face!"

Pretty soon, the staff was rushing about mercilessly. Attempting to get all of the baggage together and outside of the lavishly furnished mansion was no easy task. They had to watch where they were going to keep from tripping over all of the floor displays and sculptures rambling about, especially with so many distractions.

Afterwards, as Elizabeth was passing Miss Lucia in the hallway, she found her removing the delicacy from Donovan's jacket.

"I'll need to press another," she respectfully suggested.

Elizabeth looked surprised, but curtly responded as she pushed her way past. "There's no time for that. Just concentrate on getting him downstairs."

"Yes, Madam," she replied.

It was no sooner that Elizabeth had sat down in front of the marble dressing table and started combing out her sleek auburn hair that he meandered into the bedroom, vying for her attention as any affection starved house cat might.

"Mother," he said, trying his level best to be persuasive. "Won't you please stay with us at Uncle Yancey's? That way, we can go to the zoo together."

"Oh, Donovan," she smoothed her diamond clustered hand against his cheek. "Your father needs me to be with him in Melbourne. This is a very important meeting. Please try to understand. I'll make it up to you. Promise."

"That's what you always say..," he shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the room and into his bedroom.

She could sense the disappointment was genuine, and it left them both feeling forlorn and awkward, even if it was very short lived.

Immediately, Allister began yelling up the stairs. "Elizabeth! What's keeping you? We have to leave now if you want to make this bloody trip!"

Without hesitation, she hurried over to the four poster piece of antiquity and slipped into the maroon silk pantsuit that was lying across the covers. Then in complete desperation, she called out to her only anchor in times of trouble, "Lucia!"

Donovan went into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. The walls were covered in posters of metal and punk rock bands and it was messy compared to the rest of the house, but he went about making himself comfortable as he tossed his backpack on his bed. His cell phone fell out with the music still playing, and the battery was almost dead, but he didn't even notice. Instead, he walked over to the wooden desk and slinked into the brown swivel chair at his computer. As soon as he touched the mouse, his screen lit up and the backdrop image was a close up of Miss Lucia with a clean broad smile. He clicked on an alien game icon and it began to load when there was a knock at the door.

In a matter of seconds, Miss Lucia had entered his room, walked up behind him and patted him endearingly on the shoulder.

"Come along now. We have to hurry. They're waiting for you," she demanded.

"But I will miss you if I go," he coerced. "And my nights will be lonely without the thought of you there," he grinned.

"Oh, now," she waved him off. "You musn't be so objectionable all the time. One day you'll meet a love your own age and you'll put these petty things aside. So go ahead and grab what you must and let's get on with it!" she replied as she clapped her hands, as though to lead him out.

He walked over to his bed, grabbed his backpack, and shoved his cellphone back inside of it. As he swung it over his shoulder, she went to take him by the arm. Quickly, he caught hold of the turning on the footboard and gripped tightly before yelling loudly, "I don't want to go! I don't want to go anywhere at all! You can't make me!"

While she pressed on for endurance in the play of wits and tug-of-war, even more so she was fighting back the tears, as she literally had to pull him down the spiraling staircase with his backpack in tow.

Luckily though, Preston was there to assist her when they reached the car.
Chapter Two

In an attempt to get some temporary relief, Donovan squirmed his sore behind into every square inch of the narrow area he had conformed to. The pursuit of getting comfortable seemed an impossible task with Preston's belly overlapping his seat and Viola's pillow smothering his arm rest. Being sandwiched between the two of them wasn't exactly the picnic he had been promised.

They had been airborne since four that afternoon, landed once to refuel, and it was already past midnight. And at that moment, feeling the earth beneath his feet again actually lost priority to regaining the feeling in his legs. Ever since he had boarded the plane, the tingling sensation had been continually changing from miniscule pin pricks to all out unconsciousness.

"Wake up," he interrogated his knobby knees as he tried to shake the pain out through the end of his toes His heels were already tapping the floor at twenty beats per second, and now his wrist were getting involved in the commotion as he wrung them spastically. This was worse than his nightmare about being tied to a pew at an all day mass, he thought to himself.

While his parents slept soundly on an adjacent row up, he couldn't help but grumble his complaints, along with his sloshing stomach.

"They have all the luck," as one leg shot forward, denting the cushioned upholstery in front of him. Seven cans of soda were more than even the likes of Preston could handle within an eight hour period.

In an effort to widen his air space, he stretched his arms and yawned, but to no avail. It only made his overweight companion snore a little louder and Viola pound her pillow as she groggily got resituated.

"Why bother?" he continued the conversation with himself, when he remembered that his backpack was wedged beneath his seat. There were bound to be some goodies inside to tantalize his empty groaning.

Within arms reach was the red canvas and he tugged at it until it came free from the tight restraints. Then he plopped it onto his lap and unzipped it, removing everything that grabbed his interest. Aside from the jumble of playing cards, a cell phone, a pack of gum, Toblerone candy bar, and the Polaroid camera, he only found use for the last two.

All he needed was the taste of chocolate on his lips and something to toy around with, even though his feet were now making full circled swings from all of the pent up energy and disrupting Viola.

"Be still!" she hissed.

"Oh, be quiet. And go back to sleep..," he said with a threat.

She just shoved more of her pillow onto his seat as a payback for his rudeness, which only caused him to re-evaluate the situation altogether.

With one eyebrow raised and a glint of mischief in his eyes, he studied the two sidekicks as he unpeeled the candy bar wrapper, concluding that being in the middle had its advantages.

Ever so lightly, he lifted the lapel of Preston's jacket and found the slim brown bottle inside. While unscrewing the top, he got a whiff of the one-hundred proof alcohol.

"Whoa..," his head hung momentarily in a dizzying stupor, as he rapidly blinked his vision clear again. And just as he had focused in on the old man's face, he caught the zenith sized nostrils beginning to twitch.

"Yikes, the nose knows..," he jeered as he cautiously swirled the top back on. Once the aroma was trapped inside he looked again, but there was nothing to worry about. Preston's bottom lip was quivering in the wind of his zzz's.

Feeling somewhat safe, he placed the bottle on the pillow beside his sleeping sister and raised the camera to meet his eager eye. All it took was a simple flash, before it shot out the developing photograph.

Preston went undisturbed, but Viola awoke with a start.

"What are you doing?" she whimpered as the cool bottle rolled from her face and settled into the valley of fluff.

"Shhh.., It's the old geezer's."

"Well, put it back!" her voice exceeded a whisper.

"All right.., all right already. Just don't go getting Mother's knickies in a whirl," he chuckled, indulging in his own sense of humor.

He did return the bottle to its proper pocket, but upside down. No bother tough, the top was screwed on tight.

However, Viola couldn't go back to sleep, because the more she thought about it, it was pretty funny. So she went along with her brother's hoax and took the camera, snapping one incredulous shot after another, as their parents grew restless by the sound of their laughter.

"Now with your eyelids inside out," she urged, and Donovan obliged with a crooked frown, too.

"Here's one for Father," he mocked with one finger up his nose as the flash went off, sending out the image.

Suddenly though, the fun ended when they heard the accordion door slide open.

Immediately, Donovan stashed the camera into his backpack and hurled it beneath the seat, while Viola stuffed the snapshots into her pillowcase.

"Did I see a flash just now?" a mild-toned stewardess glared down at them both disapprovingly.

As best as Donovan could keep a straight face, he turned to the navy mid-waist and lied, "I don't know. Is it lightning out?"

Viola turned to him with bulging cheeks, and then Donovan's filled to overflowing with air too, as they both burst forth in a messy spray of laughter and spittle.

The stewardess found neither of them amusing, and was about to deal with them by waking up their guardian when a man five rows back requested an extra pillow.

"Well..," the woman sighed tiredly as though letting them off the hook, while she attended the other passenger.

"Guess you could say we were saved by the WELL," added Donovan to his sister and they snickered some more.

Eventually though, he managed to calm down long enough to let the rest of the night slip by. And when he awoke, thought it was pretty amazing that they had passed through seven time zones with only two more to go. Still, it was more time than he could figure so early in the morning.

His eyes were heavy and his mouth all tangy from the high concentration of sugar he had consumed over the lagging duration. So it was only natural that he was thinking about warm maple syrup when the squeaky cart came jutting down the aisle with breakfast platters in tow.

As it grew closer, something wasn't quite right about the smell. It wasn't sweet at all, but rather a pungent blend between boiled cabbage and a sweaty pig. When Donovan pulled back the clear moisture laden lid, his disappointment was confirmed by his reaction.

"Green eggs and ham?! But I wanted hotcakes"

At once, Allister leaned over Elizabeth from across the aisle. "Watch your manners, son. It's a spinach omelet and very good for you. Just place it in your croissant."

"Do I have to?" he was always second guessing.

In a joint effort, Elizabeth too leaned in with kind reinforcement.

"Let's be sure to keep it on your plate this time."

Donovan was sure to pinch his nose when he nibbled at the speckled green edges.

Shortly after all the remnants from breakfast had disappeared, a cart filled with reading materials was wheeled past, pausing long enough to let each passenger choose through the assortment of newspapers, magazines and books. When Viola picked a book about the Australian ballet, Elizabeth was pleased to see her taking such an interest.

"Donovan," she suggested, "why don't you familiarize yourself with the culture?"

"Sure, Mother," he answered in his carefree way and took his choice from the top of the stack.

When she noticed the title, "The Aborigines of the Outback," with a picture of natives doing a tribal dance on the cover, she simply shook her head and turned back around.

Of course, Donovan grinned a little broader when his sheepish expression reflected back from the glossy pages of Aboriginal bare breasted women.

"Yep," he mumbled, "I'll just make myself at home."

"Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for landing," the pilot gave the long awaited announcement. "We're approaching Darwin."

"Hooray!" exclaimed Viola as did the other passengers on board. The twenty four hour saga had finally come to a close, and she would be playing with her cousin in no time.

As the bright Australian sun lit up the interior of the plane, Donovan was getting excited about the prospect of landing. Anxiously, he sank his elbow into Preston's belly as he stretched to peer over him. The old man became cognizant again with a loud snort.

"Oh dear," he said, clearing his throat. "It must have been that hearty lunch."

"Or what it took to wash it down," Donovan chuckled as he watched the coastline coming into view. Something he hadn't anticipated had crept its way into his spirit, an enthusiasm for the unknown—born on the wings of a commercial airline.

Simultaneously, his chin and forehead met the thick shield of oval glass, and he smiled with a new revelation. His seven days of glory weren't behind him at all.., but lied just ahead.
Chapter Three

The Darwin International Airport was buzzing with an influx of people rushing from one terminal to the next. Some were clearly businessmen with the vast majority of them tourists, pressing against the flow of digression. But the most harrying ordeal of all was watching his parent's losing it at Baggage Claim when the next flight to Melbourne had already been announced.

Despite their efforts to speed the process even more, Donovan tried appealing to his mother one last time before the cord was broken for good.

"Are you sure you can't stay and let Father go alone?... Please don't leave me," he urged.

"Now, Donovan," she said hurriedly while grabbing for the tapestry cosmetic case that lumbered past. "I thought we went over this already. It'll only be for a couple of days and then we'll join you at your Uncle's. Take care of your sister, and don't give her such a hard time."

It wasn't the assurance he was looking for, but he nodded anyway as he watched the revolving wheel make its rounds. He wished the machine would jam and send their luggage out into space somewhere, because he couldn't imagine his mother getting too far without her prized possessions. But when his father hoisted the final piece of the ensemble over his shoulder, he realized he wouldn't be having any such luck.

A quick kiss and a pat on the head was all he got, while Viola lavished warm embraces, and the old man had a wad of cash shoved into his trembling hand. Then they were off.

It was the shortest good-bye yet and the most distant. And as his parent's disappeared into the vacuum of humanity, the ceiling and walls seemed to expand and it left him feeling very small from where he stood.

"Just extra baggage," he told his sister, "discarded and soon forgotten..," all the while wondering where they were supposed to go from there. The rest was up to Preston.

The first thing the Englishman did was to unfold the note and call the number written on it. It belonged to Yancey. He lived so remotely out in the bush that they would have to get a ride to another local airport, where he would be flying in to pick them up.

It was pretty common for successful ranchers in those parts, anything to help ward off some of the dangers of traveling through the desert. And though it was unsettling to Preston, he didn't know which part disturbed him most, natives in the city, or the necessity for hangars in the outback. Perhaps it was the later.

Traveling in a small commuter plane over no-mans-land wouldn't exactly put his mind at ease, but duty called. So he took the frail hand of the damsel clinging to his coat sleeve and followed the instructions given by the gruff voice on the other end of the telephone.

A gusty surge of hot air rushed them on the sidewalk as a city bus sped past. The chill from the air conditioned airport had long since subsided as the ninety degree temperature consumed their pores, making them each acutely aware of how overdressed they were, especially compared to the laid back standards of those passing by.

Loosening his tie at the collar and unbuttoning the stiff gray suit was a relief, but when the lad began to do the same correction was in order.

"Keep it all on for now," he gave a short nod.

"Uncle Yancey probably doesn't even own a suit," Donovan instigated. "And according to the way Father talks about him—"

"Well now.., it's not for me to decide," as he smugly shook a breeze into his trousers. "I just have to see to it that you get there looking presentable. And if you choose to run naked through the marshlands afterwards..," he smirked with a little more freedom in his tone, "then albeit for me to give a hoot."

Donovan squinted squarely up at him, as though testing this new found authority. "And what if I take the liberty of doing so now?"

It was then that the old man took immense pleasure in squeezing the chap's neck firmly, ushering him toward the yellow car he had finally managed to flag down.

"Incorrigible..," he sighed. "Absolutely incorrigible."

Without giving the matter another thought, Donovan scooted across the gritty black seat in his patent loafers, tan slacks, and navy blue sports coat. He would be shedding those layers soon enough.

Viola, on the other hand, sat down lady-like and primped into the compact she had taken from her floral purse, making sure the yellow ribbons were snug in her strawberry blonde twist. While she was only concerned with the image in the mirror, her brother was busy taking in the surroundings.

Like the continent of Australia, Darwin was much different than Donovan had imagined, more tropical and bigger with tall hotels and colorful billboards. The further away they drove from the business district, the more it changed.

The brown skinned people walking about went from professional attire to thrift store clothing and it was definitely a clash from what he was used to seeing in London. He had never guessed there were so many Asians living there, and some of the ones that saw him didn't seem too friendly, as he looked into the hard pressed faces of the working middle class.

Even the Aborigines didn't appear to be anything like the ones in the book. They were dressed in regular street clothes, not leather skins, and blended in with the rest of the towns' people.

"Bummer," he groaned, "I bet the kangaroos are probably extinct, too."

As his eyes continued to scan the unfamiliar scenery, his spirits suddenly lifted when he spotted an exotically painted green bus with a sign advertising tours to a Crocodile Farm.

"Stop here," he commanded the cabby.

"Whatever do you mean, lad?" abhorred Preston.

"Look there.., a tour to a real Crocodile Farm!" he eagerly explained while unclasping his seat belt.

Viola objected at once. "I don't want to go to a crocodile farm! I want to see Marcy!"

Preston patted her on the hand, "Not to worry dear, there will be no tours today."

The driver swung his oversized arm around, exposing a wet hairy armpit and said, "What's it gonna be, mate? I ain't got all bloody day!"

"Carry on," Preston replied and they were moving with the flow of traffic again.

Donovan sulked as he slid back into the seat. His suggestions were never taken seriously.

A couple of blocks later they were pulling into the parking lot of a shoddy little airport, which was strictly used for small planes. As soon as they went inside, Preston made a comment about being tired, so he sat down to rest in one of the many orange plastic chairs that were welded into rows.

Viola complained that she was hungry.

"Very well then," he stood wearily and reached deep into his trouser pockets. "Go wash up while I see if I have enough small change."

But Donovan had another idea. He wanted to ease his fascination before thinking about food, as he peered through the large streaked window towards town.

Even though the glass was smeared with greasy fingerprints, he could still make out the sign for the Crocodile Farm, along with the line of tourists buying tickets. When he stood back, he could also see the outline of Preston slumped over in the chair with the gold cap extended halfway from his lapel. He was sound asleep.

Remembering that the old man had said it would take at least another hour for his uncle to arrive, he reasoned that it would probably be his only chance to have any fun the whole trip.

So while Viola was washing up, he obscurely slipped out the door.

The odd line up of faces kept staring down at him sullenly and some were looking up. Two dirty young girls, with uncombed hair and bruised legs, sat against a brick building that was unusually well manicured for the area, snickering as he walked by.

Donovan stopped, curious about what was so funny.

"Banker's boy..," they turned to each other and laughed.

Their skimpy tube-tops and cut-off jeans caught his attention right away. He overlooked their faces, as he glanced back at his own clothing and then read the sign directly above the storefront, The Merchant's Bank.

"Not on your life, ladies," he replied astutely, as though there was some dignity behind his years.

To make his point, he dropped his backpack in front of them. Then he pulled off his sports coat, tossed it over his arm, and with a swift twist, loosened his tie at the collar, before whipping it off also.

More giggling ensued.

"Ooh..," one of the girls teased, "bet he'll put 'em back on when he gets inside."

"Oh yeah?" he replied with a quick shift in attitude. "What do you know anyway, dirty ol' hags?"

Suddenly, the glass doors swung open, and a brute of an Irishman stepped out with a blue check stub and a fistful of cash. He grabbed one of the girls with his free hand and kicked the other in the shins.

"Get up from there, the both of ya!" he slurred. "Didn't I tell ya to stay in the truck?!"

"But Papa..," one of them argued.

He raised his hand to hit her.

"Look, sir," Donovan picked up his backpack and gestured nervously. "They weren't causing any trouble. Really—"

"And what do ya know about trouble, boy?" he laughed, releasing the wad of change into his shirt pocket and turning over the engine. "I'll give ya some advice," the old truck sputtered as he took a swig from a hot can of Brewster and shifted into drive. "If ya don't want no trouble, then ya better not look at 'em. Don't speak to 'em. And whatever ya do, don't touch 'em. They don't wash out that easy."

"Yes, sir," he nodded in agreement. "I'll remember that."

At his response, the girls spun around and made gruesome faces at him as they merged in with the rest of the traffic. It was a lasting impression he had just as soon forget.

"Women..," he sighed. "Why do I even bother?"

One glance at his watch was all he needed to bring reality back in check. Time was slipping away, and if he wasted any more of it—he hated to ponder.

When it came right down to it though, he had to admit that those girls did him a favor. At least they had pointed him in the right direction, because a pocket full of pounds wouldn't have gotten him very far. So he went inside the bank to make the exchange for Australian dollars.

"What's the holdup?" he complained under his breath, watching the line grow until it curved out the entrance. It was as if the place would be closing in a matter of minutes. He noticed the red hands on the large wooden clock beside the exotic bus, and knew that he would have to hurry to make the tour. So he weaseled his way closer into the next open slot.

"Hey.., the kid broke!" someone shouted.

Donovan paid no attention. Rather, he impatiently clicked his fingers against the counter which practically touched his chin, hardly believing how long it was taking the teller to figure from the conversion chart.

"Please miss," he urged. "My family's already on the bus"

Finally, she began counting dollars. "Sorry 'bout the wait, sweetie," she said. "It's always a mad house before the holidays."

"That's okay," he politely answered. "We've all got some place else to be, I suppose."

"Too right!" she tiredly smiled and waved the next person forward. "I wouldn't spend it all at once if I were you. There's a lot to see 'round here, if you know where to look."

"Oh, I do," he smiled and pushed his way through the maze of customers.

As he stepped outside, a man was leaning against the building, taking a long drag from a cigarette and eyeing him suspiciously. But Donovan didn't notice, because he was busy inspecting his new cash.

Then he sprinted down the sidewalk, until he met the stream of tourists boarding the bus. Blending in with the American family was easy, the rough shaven driver simply took his money without question.

It was just like his father's example, "Give the man a dollar and it will do the talking for you."

The bag of chips and the soda were waiting for Viola in one of the orange chairs when she returned from the restroom. She was sure that her guardian had seen better days, as the drool had formed a link between his chin and his shoulder. There was no need to wake him though, she could open the package herself.

After the last chip had been devoured, she folded the bag into the smallest square possible. Then there was the question of what to do with it. The gold cap stemming from Preston's lapel looked as though it could use some company, so she tucked it inside and patted the pocket with a sigh. Other that making sure her hair was in place, there was nothing else to do.

She had already licked the crumbs from her fingers, which didn't necessitate another trip to the latrine. So she removed the small compact from her purse and decided to take a rest too, leaning against the dead lump of weight beside her. And just as she had thought, everything appeared as it should.

Actually, it was amazing what all could be seen with the mirror turned at just the right angle, projecting light into the fuzzy cavern of the old man's nostrils. She studied her find for a moment, wondering where her brother was and anxious to give a demonstration that would have made him proud.

Glancing around the room that reeked of grimy automotive parts, she fixed her eyes on the men's restroom. And after milling over all of the options, she snapped the compact shut.

"He must've fell in," she concluded wearily. It was the only explanation.
Chapter Four

There was an empty seat at the back of the bus that practically had his name on it, and it was with much determination that Donovan beat a retired Italian couple to it. It wasn't until they had settled down in the next row up and began speaking in their fluent tongue that he turned away from the window, all the while thinking that if they didn't even speak English then they certainly couldn't tell. Besides, it was the perfect location. With the other tourists ahead of him, he could spy and maybe catch some bits of useful information along the way.

As each person piled on board, he noticed their sweaty backs and dripping foreheads, wishing that the bus would get going already. But as hot as it was and as strange as it seemed, it was a sweet odor to him—the smell of freedom and adventure just waiting to be had. That was until a huge Chinese family occupied the surrounding seats and put a damper on his plans. There were so many different dialects being spoken that he wouldn't even be able to read lips.

"Guess the road will be my teacher," he mumbled, climbing upon the seat to hang his head out of the window. Then as the bus began to move, more than just the warm air hit him.

It felt great breaking away from Preston and Viola for a while. He presumed that if his uncle was anything like his parents he would be late getting to the airport, especially if something more important came up. And for the moment, it was instant gratification for making him leave home against his will.

"Independence..," he smiled. "It's Independence Day," as he ingested a fly in the process.

A deep voice sounded beside him, "Independence Day isn't till tomorrow."Donovan pulled his head in, as he pulled out a remaining wing and lurked around to see who was talking to him, and instantly wished he hadn't.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked the man sitting next to him, whose face was pitted with scars and deep lines of aging, and his nose and lips were blistered from the sun. He was wearing a worn brown hat with corks and lures hanging from it, and upturned from the seat was the butt end of a knife, secured to his belt by a leather pouch.

It was a far cry from anything he would have seen in the Cotswolds, and despite his urge to pretend that he hadn't heard the man correctly, his interest was stirred.

"Out of place, aren't ya kid?" the voice was clearly American with a hint of Australian mixed in. And when he glanced down at Donovan, his gaze was a little darker than his complexion.

"That's funny," Donovan smiled nervously, "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

The man sneered, nothing about his demeanor was pleasant, "Oh, a pomme?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean?" Donovan was hesitant and somewhat confused.

"Just another name for the English, that's all. You can sit pretty. You pommes are good at that..," pausing for a grin that revealed some half rotten teeth and sulfuric breath. "Aren't ya?"

Donovan slid closer to the metal wall. "I can hold my own," he said adamantly.

"I bet you can," the man's expression grew sinister.

Even though Donovan must have teased his sister with a similar expression hundreds of times, he knew it was a peculiar thing to say. So rather than responding, he went with his gut feeling and turned back to face the window, pretending the swagman wasn't there.

As the waves of wind pounded his face, he caught a glimpse of a highway sign that showed the Crocodile Farm was just ahead. He tried to stay preoccupied with the scenery, but there was movement beside him.

"Oh no," he thought, "it could be the knife." He had heard stories about the deranged and their victims, but hoped it was only his imagination running wild.

"Ever take candy from a stranger?" the swagman tapped him on the back, extending an unwrapped stick of gum.

Donovan shook his head and looked at his wrist watch. He had been gone for twenty minutes. Surely they would make it back within the hour.

Folding the rejected ploy into his mouth, the man chewed slowly as though plotting out his thoughts.

"Always travel alone?" his tone was more dry than before, not really caring about the answer.

Donovan sat still for a second and raised his chin to skim over the tops of heads until he spotted the American family at the front of the bus.

"I'm not alone," he said poignantly. "That's my family up there."

Annoyed by the response, the swagman smacked his gum and said,

"You know.., I could've sworn they had New York accents when I got on the bus."

Donovan's reserved had proved right. Exactly what this man wanted was beyond him, but why the persistence? Was it really that obvious he was a misfit? he wondered.

"You must've been mistaken. That's my family," he insisted. "We've just had a falling out, that's all."

The swagman distastefully swung his head from side to side, leaned in closer and grimaced, "Look, kid. I saw you leave the bank."

Thirty two minutes had passed and the humorous sarcasm had since died. Viola was really worried. She had already shaken the life back into Preston, who had searched the stalls of the men's restroom and examined the air strip, along with every other square inch of the building, but there was no trace of her brother.

Preston stooped down and braced her by the shoulders, "Quick, do you have a photograph of him?"

"No, I don't think so," her voice cracked as she went for her purse. "Wait!... My pillowcase"

At once, the two of them were scrambling for the luggage, they rummaged through everything until they found the pillow. As soon as Viola turned it upside down, all of the pictures fell out and scattered about on the floor.

Preston heaved at what he saw, the picture of his liquor bottle shining from his lapel, the shot of Viola sleeping with the bottle on her pillow, one of Donovan pretending to guzzle down the alcohol, plus the two of him making funny faces.

As she went to scoop them up, he snatched them from her hands, overwhelmed with fury.

"Shame on you two! Spoiled little snots!" he seethed while wedging them into his secret pocket, except for the one with Donovan's finger lodged up his nose. As horrid as the image was, it happened to be the only one that halfway resembled his natural features.

Then he tossed the luggage into a heap in the corner of the room, scribbled out a brief note and placed it on top for Yancey to find when he arrived. And just as quickly, he took Viola by the hand, and rushed about frantically, as he asked everyone in sight if they had seen the boy in the picture.

There were moats with five foot high cement walls separating the tourists from the crocodiles, and Donovan had to stand on his toes to get a good look. It was even more of a strain to toss over the stale fish parts that the ranger had given him, but it was well worth the effort as he watched the powerful jaws clamp onto the raw treat. Some actually leapt up to three meters to catch the food before it hit the water, making him relieved to feel the security of the thick wall between them as they swarmed in the hundreds below.

He was equally glad to have been part of the afternoon tour, which allowed him to participate in their daily feeding schedule. Otherwise, the reptiles would have probably been lethargic and docile.

Although a ranger had pointed out the differences in the fresh and saltwater species, Donovan couldn't distinguish between them, aside from the obvious divided pools. In fact, all he was really able to establish mentally was how gruesome it would be to fall into the midst of them when he stopped the passing ranger and asked, "How big do they get?"

The Asian man in the green uniform swatted the gnats away with his matching cap and replied, "Eighteen feet's a good length in the wild, but they aren't that lucky here. See, this is also a research station and a hatch'ry. Most of these crocs wind up on the menu in local barbies."

Oddly enough, Donovan was pleased with the answer. It somehow made him feel better just knowing that man was still in control. Then a dark hulking figure leaned over him, tossed in a juicy chunk of meat and purposely dripped some of the blood onto his arm.

The ranger had hurried off to warn a thrill seeking teenager to get down from the wall, and Donovan found himself staring directly into the eyes of the man he had been trying hard to stay clear of.

"Wouldn't wave that around too much if I were you," the voice taunted him. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose it."

"Look mister, what do you want from me?" he cringed defensively.

The swagman wasn't as easily intimidated. Cynically, he waved a finger in his face like an incessant school teacher, "Too many questions for a boy your age. I'd be careful.., you know what curiosity did to the cat," while making the motion of slicing his throat with his thick callused finger and letting out an eerie laugh that caused his corks to dance as he shook.

Donovan had never swallowed a bigger gulp of saliva in his life. He was speechless as he carefully inched away from the man and bumped into another person, which made him aware of the fact that he wasn't so vulnerable after all.

Now he was out in the open, surrounded by other tourists without the confines of the bus, and he looked for an avenue of escape.

The Chinese family was flashing pictures on either side of him when a woman, wearing the same green uniform as the ranger, made an announcement over a loudspeaker from a bus that read, "Kakadu National Park."

"For those of you going to Kakadu, we will be leaving in ten minutes. So please have your passes ready"

The Asian ranger passed by again. "Looks like your folks are leavin' without you, mate," he commented out of concern.

Donovan picked up his backpack and said, "Thanks," in appreciation for the reminder.

The swagman headed for the bus returning to Darwin, but brushed against his shoulder on the way and whispered, "Save you a seat."

This required a snap decision. The American family was about to board the bus going to Kakadu, and he was too afraid to ride back to Darwin with the swagman out to get him. So he fell in behind the blonde family again. But as he got closer to the steps, he didn't know that it would be as easy getting past this one

The brown haired woman was a no-nonsense type, he reasoned it out. She had a military cut and carried herself more like a man than the Asian ranger had. He would have to act quick. Fortunately, the skinny black driver tapped the woman on the shoulder in the nick of time. When she turned back around, she was already reaching for the Italian couple's passes.

No one had even noticed that he hadn't been accounted for, and he planned to keep it that way.

Since he didn't want to risk being isolated again, he nestled in closely behind the Americans at midpoint.

Little did he know that this bus would be taking him another hundred miles deeper into the bush, without returning its passengers to the city.
Chapter Five

Telephone directories and maps were scattered all about the large billiard table in the trophy room as Yancey aggressively pressed one button after another in search of a lead, which had been the case for hours.

It was April 25th and most of the businesses and banks had been closed early due to the next day's celebration, Anzac Day. Desperation was mounting more by the minute as he slammed down the cordless phone, inhaled deeply from a lit cigarette and then stabbed it out into an ashtray.

"Nothin'!" Can you believe it?" he literally spat the words at Preston, who was already stressed beyond maximum kilt and shrinking at the knees.

Viola had been standing in the doorway and Yancey turned to find her there, reading the worry on her face.

"What a bloody ocker I am," he breathed in mock frustration, but full of sympathy. "I'm sorry darlin', we'll find your brother. You'll see. She'll be apples." He held out his arms and she ran to him.

"Apples?" she asked, making every effort to keep a proud face.

"Oh," Yancey replied, pulling his hand from his forehead as if he had had a revelation. "What I meant to say is that everythin' will be all right. Got it?"

Viola nodded in agreement. Her hair was only partially in ribbons now and she was tired. "You know what I think?" her voice was weak.

"No, darlin'. Tell me," Yancey replied, sweeping the hair away from her face so he could see her wide green eyes.

"I think Donovan got on the crocodile bus. He was looking at it through the window, before I went to the restroom." Her eyes filled up again and she tried hard to hold back the tears.

"Then I'm sure that's exactly what happened," he stated matter-of-factly. "And we've got the authorities workin' on it right now. So don't waste another minute worryin' about it, pretty girl." He kissed her on the cheek. "Now do as your Uncle tells you, all right?"

"Mary!" he yelled in his deep boisterous manner, a rugged opposite of his younger brother.

His wife hurried into the room, saw Viola sitting on his lap and understood all too well the urgency of the situation.

"Viola, I thought you were gettin' ready for dinner," her voice was sugary sweet. "Come now.., you must be starved. Marcy's waitin' for you in the kitchen."

Viola liked her aunt and she welcomed her soft hand as the maid came to greet her in the doorway, ready to escort her to the kitchen.

Mary stayed behind a moment. "Has anythin' turned up yet?" she asked, although the discouragement was apparent.

"I've phoned just about everyone I know. We've searched every nook and cranny and the bloody wallopers said they'd keep a watchful eye out, but it's too early for 'em to take it seriously." He pounded his hand against the table.

"Tomorrow's Anzac Day. Practically everytin' will be closed, and if we don't hear from someone within the hour, I'm headin' out on my own."

Mary walked over and massaged his shoulders, "I still haven't been able to reach Allister and Elizabeth. It seems they've not made it to the hotel."

Preston nervously tucked the bottle inside his jacket that he had just taken the last sip from. He needed something more to remove the edge. "I'd like to drive into town and ask around some more, sir. It'll be getting dark soon."

Mary looked surprised.

Yancey turned to him and sternly said, "Even with the best bandwagon we've got, you don't know your way around these parts and we're talkin' about miles of desert."

Mary took his empty coffee cup and excused herself from the room before the air got too heated. "If you hear anythin'."

"Yeah, likewise..," he sighed.

Then his eyes grew harsh as he turned to the old man. "You know somethin'.., I can't figure out for the life of me, just what the hell you were doin' when the lad disappeared! You're his guardian, for mercy's sake!"

"I I..," he stuttered, "I must have dozed off.., after the long flight," too ashamed to look at him directly.

"I see," Yancey got up and paced the floor, narrowing the tension in on him. "And it couldn't possibly have had anythin' to do with that blasted bottle! Now could it?!" He jerked it loose from his pocket.

"You do know..," said Allister sharply, "there is still a lot of controversy over the mining of uranium. Even with the government restrictions on Aboriginal territories"

Elizabeth got a chill and it wasn't from the change in altitude, either. "Something's wrong..," she said.

"Of course it is," he continued. "The reserve is limited and the investors..."

"No..," she said complacently as though her mind was elsewhere, clouded with unease. "About the children, I just feel like something has happened"

"Oh, love," he replied, leaving no room for compromise, "the children are fine. You're simply feeling guilty over the separation."

"It seems more than that. Call it mother's intuition if you will, but we shouldn't have left them alone."

"We didn't. As I recall, we left them in very capable hands. Why, they have Preston, Mary and Yancey, plus a whole slew of others. They're probably having the time of their lives about now."

"I suppose you're right, but we just don't spend enough time with them," she said. "You should've seen Donovan's expression at the airport, it was as if we were abandoning him"

"Isn't that the reason we're even taking this trip? To see if we can't alter things a bit? Anywho, our children have all of the advantages. Why, I spend as much time with Donovan as my father did with me, and you see how well I turned out."

However, Elizabeth didn't smile.
Chapter Six

Traveling northeast on Pine Creek, the journey became more fascinating with each mile. The crop-haired woman had given a brief presentation of everything they had passed so far, including the history of the Jawoyn country and the discovery of gold in 1872.

"Within a short time.., copper, tin, and tungsten were also found and labor or "native control" camps were set up, which meant the Jawoyns left the river banks and took to working underground. Some of the remnants still remain near the mines, and what you're seeing are farms Europeans established during that time"

Donovan was thinking about how neat it would be to explore one of those mines. He had seen and heard enough about civilization, and now he was ready to find out what was behind the thicket of trees and waist high brush that surrounded the properties.

"Whatever it is," he mumbled, "it has to be more interesting than this speech she's giving."

But once they had passed through the old town and train station, the land became unsettled again, and he could hardly believe what his eyes were seeing.

From the flat receding flood plains, hundreds of white egrets took flight and a pink cloud of galahs rose with them at the passing disturbance. A band of emus strutted throughout the open grasslands where green shrubs spotted the landscape and massive rock formations emerged in the distance. And what Donovan was experiencing was both excitement and regret, realizing that the bus would be reaching its final destination soon.

It had taken three and a half hours to reach Jim Jim Gorge from the Crocodile Farm. They had stopped off once when they reached the Adelaide River, but it was so far out that he didn't know exactly where they were, and he didn't care to be let off there, away from the faces he had grown accustomed to.

According to the map he had picked up at the fuel station, Kakadu Park was just around the bend. So he kept the vigilance, not wanting to interrupt the sanctity of those around him as they worshipped the scenery. But even with its startling beauty, Donovan knew that things would look much different after dark, and he hoped for a quick return to the city before it got too late.

As they neared the entrance, the bus slowed to a steady pull, which gave him the opportunity to read a sign that showed the parks parameters. Stretching almost 80 miles north to south and 40 miles east to west, it was hard for him to comprehend just how wide the jagged mountain of rock spanned. He wondered, did the park have any boundaries.., or did it just keep on going?

Then the muscle armed woman began her fact lesson again as she spoke flatly into the cordless microphone, her serious stare rarely catching his diversion.

"Kakadu is crossed by four major rivers—the West, South and East Alligator Rivers. And oh yes, the Wildman. Each of these rivers are fed by a vast network of creeks and streams, and are the lifeblood of the park. And this water—a vital source to he more than 1,000 plant species, 300 species of birds, 75 different species of reptiles, along with 50 species of native mammals, and 30 varieties of amphibians, not to mention one quarter of all Australian freshwater fish species and thousands of different insects"

"Wow.., it's just like exploring in a warm jungle or a rain forest!" Donovan blurted with renewed vigor, gaining the attention of the Italian couple.

The elderly woman turned to him in broken English and said, "Are you not with a parent? I see you have been alone the whole trip."

Donovan didn't want to give any cause for alarm, so he replied, "I'm meeting my uncle here."

"Oh.., I see," she smiled. "It's such a long journey for a young boy."

Her husband cupped her thin arthritic hand into his own, which was coated in curly long strands of white hair.

"Don't trouble the boy," he chucked more fluently. "Why, I traveled much farther than this when I was his age.., all the way from Germany to Spain," he sighed as though reflecting over the memory. "Have you ever been to Spain? I know the accent—a Londoner, eh?"

Donovan sensed that these were nice people, so he told them about his family and his life in England. He even went as far as to mention his Uncle Yancey, a uranium investor and sheep rancher, and how he planned to meet him later on. It wasn't a complete lie. At least he hoped that it would work out that way within the next few hours.

The ranger made another announcement to the eager participants.

"We'll be reaching the Tourist Center soon, which is where we'll be pitching our tents for the night. It's getting late, so I'd advise setting up camp first. There's still a half-a-mile walk over boulders to the falls and plunge pool, so you may want to hold off till morning," pausing to take a sip of water from a bright yellow cup.

Donovan's mouth dropped open. "Setting up camp?"

"And since all of you chose the scenic route, we'll be heading out early. Remember.., it's a bumpy ride over 23 more miles of rough terrain, so your rest is important. But we'll be stopping off at several sites along the way, and we should reach Park Headquarters before the day is up. So go ahead and get your passes ready for the ranger inside. He'll furnish tomorrow's schedule, along with the hiking guide and ute assignment"

"What?" Donovan questioned loudly. He had no idea what to do now that they wouldn't be returning to Darwin.

As the Italian woman shook the passes free from her purse, the old man leaned down as though he thought the boy was confused about the ute.

"Know what they say, four wheels are a mite quicker than two old heels," he chuckled at his muse.

Donovan nodded politely. If he hadn't been so puzzled about his deepening dilemma he would have laughed, but he switched his ear to the guide instead.

"Some of the sites we'll be visiting have extraordinary examples of Aboriginal art depicting images of the Dreamtime and totemic beings, which was an important part of life for this culture. Some 5,000 natural art galleries in all have been identified"

Donovan looked out the window to the scenery that was ever changing and totally amazing. From huge sandstone monoliths to tropical patches of rain forest, it was awesome indeed. "No wonder they call it the Dreamtime," he said to himself. "If only I could dream my way back to Darwin..," when the bus abruptly came to a halt, sending his forehead into the seat in front of him.

"Ouch!" he rubbed the red patch of skin. Immediately, he saw a pair of kangaroos scrambling away from alongside his window.

The guide wasn't the least bit shaken as she brushed the splashed water from her green uniform.

"Just one of the many hazards of driving in the outback - - roo's everywhere."

And everyone laughed.

"Now then, where were we? Ah yes. Some of the smoke you're seeing in the distance is most likely Aborigines firing the land as their yearly ritual for growth and regrowth, called firestick farming."

"You mean Aborigines still live out there?!" Donovan spoke out of turn, temporarily forgetting all about his sore situation.

"Oh course they do," the woman smiled with his sudden interest. "We are very grateful to the Bunitji clan for signing the 100 year lease with the Director of the National Parks and Wildlife Service. This allows the park to be managed for the benefit of all Australians.., but this is still their land, as we speculate it has been for the past 40,000 years. And their traditions are well preserved."

"Any more questions?" she addressed the other tourists on board.

Only one, which Donovan kept to himself. "Why did he have to miss out on all the fun?"

It was already past eight o'clock and not only did he realize what trouble he would be in when his parent's found out, but he could already feel the sting on his behind, or had it grown numb again?

Anyway, there was always the bright side. And maybe, if he begged and coerced long enough, just maybe, he could convince the others not to tell.
Chapter Seven

Donovan walked around inside the Tourist Center, running his hand along a glass case which displayed Aboriginal artifacts and a Gagadju calendar, identifying six different periods of the year. From what he had read, it was definitely the Dry season, and it was strange to think that just a couple of months earlier the land would have been completely flooded from the Wet.

While everyone else traded their passes in for information packets and equipment, he continued to thumb through some souvenirs. There were various totems, long hollow wooden tubes called didjeridoos, spears, leather pouches and an assortment of cutting stones to inspect. One item in particular caught his eye, and he pretended to throw it, a woomera.

Of course, it was just an odd shaped boomerang to him, but it might be just the tool he needed, and he took it to the counter. The others had already cleared the small store and it was only him and the store clerk that remained.

"Say, how far do you figure this will throw?" he slid it across the Formica tan counter that camouflaged with the wooden backdrop.

The man closed the cash register drawer and lowered his glasses to look through his bifocals.

"Could be an arms throw or the speed of the wind, dependin' on the force behind it," he resolved with suspicion in his tone. "Either way, it's $18.50."

"Sounds fair enough," said Donovan as he plopped down the dollars onto the counter. The old man gave him some change and printed the receipt.

It was beginning to get dark out and he wanted to have a look around before he had to call his uncle.

Once outside, he followed a trail past the campsites where the others were unpacking and buckling down for the night. The Italian couple watched him walk past and the woman called out, "Your uncle is here, yes?"

"Oh, yes," waved Donovan as he quickened his pace. He could see the outline of a huge monolith in the distance and he could hear the sound of rushing water as he struggled over the sharp boulders.

The beaten path was for sissies he thought, while readjusting the backpack to fit his shoulders more securely. Even though the snake winding trail put him in a different direction, it had clearly been trodden by another and was sure to be a short cut.

The gorge was a lot further away than he had first imagined, because the lights from camp had since faced from view, as the sun hued dim behind the looming escarpment. He hoped the narrow line of light streaming through the woods lead to an opening soon and debated over whether or not to turn back, but the water pounding out an increasing vibration off the rocks ebbed him on.

After wading through a valley of rippling stones and over one sharp crest, the vision finally came into view. It was more than his eyes could take in all at once and he gaped upward at the 300 foot plunge of gushing rapids.

Eagerly, he made his way to the opening where the mineral layered mountain reflected in the transparent ring of calm. The evening glow hitting the rocks reminded him of the yellow guiting stone from home, but it was a mirage to soon be forgotten as he slipped off his shoes and dug his heels into the soft sand which shelved into a beach. The water was shallow, warmed to the touch by the heat of the day, but the main pool at the base of the escarpment intrigued him more.

Slipping barefoot over to where the rocky strip began, he stared into the pool as the falls plunged into its depth. Bubbles of foam formed against the salty rocks and water lapped up around his feet, causing him to dance in place.

"Now this is cool," he laughed, he slinked off his backpack and unzipped it. Something this good had to be framed for all of time, so he pulled out the camera and steadied himself at an angle on the rock so that he was captured in the frame. When the picture was snapped, he waited a minute before peeling back the film that had caught nature at its best. And when he did, a spray of water dissipated around him and ruined the developing image, leaving a shrouded mist that hung over him like an aura.

Donovan just shook the slimy Polaroid free and let it fall into the water, making a mental picture instead. This sight would have to remain permanently etched in his memory.

From where he stood, the wall of stone looked as though it was hollowed out in places. The shade of night was closing in and his clarity had become nearsighted. Still, he wanted to discover it for himself. Perhaps something was hidden inside one of the crevices that only he could find, but there was only one way to get to it, which was from the other side of the plunge pool.

If only he could swim across and climb up the monolith, he could probably scan the whole area and get a view of camp.

The dark blue mineral water glistened as he slipped off his shirt and pants, and crammed them both inside his backpack, along with his shoes and socks. Then he strapped it around his shoulders, with only his underwear remaining.

At first he sucked in his belly as though to resist the initial cold, as he glided across the water with one swift movement. After experiencing the hottest day of his life, it was a welcome relief as he took long strides to each side as the water licked his face, breathing in the thick air that expanded his lungs.

It was with much hesitation that he pulled himself upon the marginal strip of shoreline. He wanted to enjoy swimming around for a while longer, but was already working against time to reach the monolith, and wondered if he would still be able to make out the path which led to the Tourist Center.

Reaching for a crevice two feet above him, he tried to pull himself up, but his wet feet slipped. So he put his shoes back on and tried again. It was no use. The slick bottomed loafers had barely kept him from sliding at the airport and were completely useless against the sandy surface. Frustrated, he kicked them off into the dirt and smoothed his hands against the rock.

Beneath the loose granules was an impression of something, a fish skeleton. He sniffed at it, rubbing his fingers together. It smelled of salt and clay. He smoothed his hand across the surface some more and found that there were several figures carved into the stone.

"Amazing," he said as the beads of water trickled down his skin and formed goose bumps as the air shifted through the trees, but he was too engrossed with his findings to notice. When he reached for another symbol, he felt a more detailed texture. If only he could pry off a section of rock.

Suddenly, something moved in the bushes. It was as though the wind had been static, because every hair on his body was tingling from the roots as he felt panic coming on. With dirty fingerprints that would have proved his trespass, he turned around, and inched closer to his backpack.

The noise sounded again.., it was crackling against dry limbs.

His drooping wet underpants were sagging from his white hips as he lunged to the ground and started pulling on his clothes.

All he could think of as he scrambled to get up was the mocking ring of the swagman's voice, "You know what curiosity did to the rat What'd a pomme like you expect?... You're easy bait, kid"

The top of his pants flew open as he clumsily grappled for his shoes and tripped. Both elbows hit the jagged rocks at the same time, and it was with much pain that he stumbled to his feet, before sinking behind a large boulder. As he rubbed the scrapes and winced, he peeked around the side and scanned the wooded area.

There was more movement behind the bush.

Donovan gasped, sucking in every last bit of air that he had to remind himself to exhale. "What if it's not even human..," the fear overshadowed his thinking.

He looked again, when instantly his eyes met the dark gaze of another, calculating its next move through the tight web of leaves.

Donovan opted to go first as he slid against the rock, motioning the sign of the crucifix with one hand and praying that God would take him first. He would rather die on the spot than to have those dark eyes watching as it ate him.., but then again.., why should he sit there and wait for it?

Quickly, he stood up. His stance was frozen. Too afraid to run and too dumbfounded to scream, his shadow cowered against the stone. He glanced at the plunge pool from the corner of his eye and fully intended to put its name to use when the creature sprang up from the bush.

In a split second, his worst fears were resolved into the form of a blaze. Then a black face with white streaks of paint emerged from the bush wearing the torch. No.., it was its red hair twisted in so many directions that it just appeared aflame.

"Oh my..," his mouth dropped open. "It's the devil's doll baby!"

At once, it stepped out from behind the leafy shield with a spear in hand.

And instantly, all of the fear was replaced with a surge of pure adrenalin as Donovan looked into the face of a real life Aborigine boy.

"Bugga Bugga Boo!" he shouted, trying to communicate, but clueless as to what he had just said, or if it was even Aboriginal.

Whatever he said must have scared the boy, because he took off running down the wooded trail that was sealed off to tourists.

Donovan gripped the top of his pants and followed suit.
Chapter Eight

They had both been talking in circles for so long that when they finally made it to the lobby of the Windsor Hotel at nine o'clock, the stately 100-year-old neighbor of the Parliament House seemed an appropriated springboard for Allister's high horse.

"You know, good judgment has never pared well with Yancey. Take Melbourne for instance. It has the most prestigious schools and universities, not to mention the egalitarian society. Why he ever chose to settle in the bush is beyond me. He could actually have a voice here Don't you think? It's much more reminiscent of home," his voice was smug.

"Maybe that's what he wanted to get away from," replied Elizabeth, well aware of his prejudices against his brother.

The fact that Yancey had always been a rebel of sorts was a quality she wished Allister would acquire more of.

"I beg to differ," he said. "Sound judgment is something that's bred.., and why anyone would want to leave it to live a life of

toil--- "

"Is exactly what I did when I married you," she laughed mockingly.

"Oh, do go on love.., you're infamous for it," he jostled above her with a slap on the behind.

This however, demanded a rebuttal as she stopped mid-step.

"You know, the way I see it, it's not so much the choices you make.., but it's what you do once you've made them that counts"

"Mr. Winthrop!" a dignified desk clerk waved to them. "We have a message for you that was phoned in a couple of hours ago. It appears to be urgent."

Allister took the note and immediately turned to Elizabeth, but she had already read it over his shoulder and was heading straight for the door with her cell phone in hand and pressing in a number.

One phone call later, and their plans, as well as their lives, had been turned upside down.

"What do you mean you lost him?" screamed Allister from the other end of her phone that he had tore from her grip.

Preston was shaking so badly that Mary thought the phone would slip from his hands. "I didn't lose him," he gave a weak defense. "He just disappeared."

"How does a twelve year old simply disappear?" his voice was unwavering, since he expected to get some answers.

Preston tried his best to explain what had happened, and left out the part about his drinking, but he did admit to dozing off when he heard Elizabeth sobbing in the background.

"What has happened to my baby?!" she cried.

"Listen to me, you old fool," he seethed into the phone. "I don't care how many people have to get involved, but you'd better place an all out search. It's going to take us at least four hours to fly back in, and I expect everything possible to be done during the interim!"

In an attempt to offer some temporary encouragement, Preston let him know that Yancey was presently in route to the airport and the police were already searching for him, but it wasn't enough to restrain the Winthrop temper.

"I don't care if you have to storm hells gates to find him! Just do it!" he demanded, before thumbing the end of the call on the electronic device and handing it back to Elizabeth.

Preston deliberately pushed his way past Mary, who had been blocking the kitchen doorway with her petite frame, as he frantically searched for keys.

"You don't know anythin' about the outback! It's dangerous out there!" she tried talking some sense into the distraught old man.

But he didn't listen. The only thing he heard at the moment was the playback in his mind and the harshness of Allister's voice. The entire incident was his fault and he had to do something to remedy it.

Seeing that her efforts in trying to stop him were futile, Mary rushed into the kitchen and retrieved the keys from a drawer while their house was still intact.

"Here," she said. "They go to the off-road van. It's loaded down with emergency equipment, extra gas, tires, medical supplies"

Preston seized them from her hands, and shuffled for the door as she continued rattling off the list.

"But be careful!" she pleaded. "None of it guarantees your safety!"

The palms of Yancey's hands were sweating as he clutched the controls of the small plane. He could see the airstrip twinkling ahead as he radioed in for landing. His only wish being that he would find his nephew waiting for him inside.

The place was already closed, but the reception area was open with the lights dimmed. Once inside, he was the only one there. So he plopped down into one of the hard plastic chairs and thought for a moment.

The airport was ominously quiet and he knew the only other person around would be the air traffic controller in the tower. He began whistling to keep his mind in step and paced the floor.

When he had reached one end of the room for the fifth time, the fluorescent row of vending machines persuaded him to stop. Hastily, he skimmed over the assortment of snacks highlighted by the bright bulbs and shook his pockets.

"Bloody lousy luck! I ain't even got a pot to-" he stopped and rubbed his grumbling stomach, realizing that he hadn't eaten all afternoon and was coming down with the shakes.

"No wonder I can't hold my temper," he complained.

Then he looked around to make sure no one could see him, and violently hoisted the small vending machine straight up and down until some cheese crackers and a box of Milk Duds dropped into the bin.

"That's more like it," he boasted while he blew his knuckles as if in victory mode.

As soon as he bent down to retrieve them, however, a loud bell sounded and he shot up thinking that he had been caught red handed, but it was just the telephone mounted on the corner wall.

"He sighed as he ripped open the package of cheese bits and poured them into his mouth. Then he felt a vibration against his chest and removed his cell phone from his shirt pocket.

"Yo?" he answered as he smacked.

"Yancey.., it's me. Is he there?" questioned his wife.

"No, Mary" he responded.

"Has anyone seen him?" she was aggravated by the smacking.

"Nope," he tried swallowing the Mild Dud, but the caramel stuck to the back of his teeth.

"Oh," she sighed. "Have you had anythin' to eat? I forgot all about it."

"I'm managin'" he replied in all seriousness. "It's the lad I'm worried about," he said.

She replied, "Allister and Elizabeth are on their way, and Viola finally cried herself to sleep."

He shook his head. "The only thing I know to do now is organize a search party and do an aerial in the mornin'."

"Well.., just do what you can hon', and I'll keep a line of intercession open and hope for the best."

"Yep," he replied. "And while you're at it, pray that wherever he is, that the good Lord 'll find him there."

It was around ten o'clock when Preston swerved into the outskirts of Darwin. The half-emptied pint of scotch he had swiped from the dashboard was barely enough to dull the pain of the moment, much less the life long build up of failures and missed opportunities, and wasted years of dreams that had flashed before his eyes, as quickly as the neon sign he had just passed doing eighty.

"A liquor store?!" he slammed on the brakes, and left black marks on the road for several yards. Then he shifted into reverse and raced backwards in time, like the scenes playing havoc in his mind.

Spinning around in a dazed fury, the wheels locked hard as he braked again and came to a stop as the front end of the truck bounced off the sidewalk. Then he swung the door open on its hinges and climbed out, before he staggered to the window. At once, he began cursing loudly as he made out the large white letters on the red sign that read, "CLOSED."

"Closed? What kind of wretched town is this?!" while he pressed his nose against the glass like a gluttonous pig. There was always a road block to everything he ever wanted and for the first time in his life, he thought about busting through.

"What if I paid for the damage?" the justifications went back and forth as he stammered to the truck in search of a tire iron. But something across the street caused his focus to grow a little tighter, as he squinted to see the strip of shops.

All the lights were out with the exception of one store, which had a blue compact car parked out front. He squinted again and saw that someone was moving around inside. When he read the sign above the store everything clicked, PRINT SHOP.

"Eureka!" he drunkenly exclaimed, as he quickly climbed back into the truck. Not even bothering to shut the door behind him, he churned into reverse again, backing clear across the road, over a median and some speed-breakers before halting just inches away from the store entrance.

The person inside was a teenager, working after hours for the next days parade, running posters, and shocked at what he had just witnessed.

"What are you.., some kind of a crazed idiot?!" he shouted as Preston waltzed right through the unlocked doors.

"I have been called worse today," he declared.

The kid tossed a cloth onto a table he had just used to wipe some developer from his hands.

"Can't you see that we're not open for business?" he answered back.

"Looks like you're working to me. And this dear lad, is an emergency," Preston replied as he whipped the photograph of Donovan from his pocket and slapped it onto the counter.

The kid looked at the comical image. "What is this? Some kind of an ambush? Like a practical joke show? You're a bush-wacker is what you are!" as he looked around the ceiling for cameras.

Preston just ignored the boy as he jotted something down on the back of an advertisement.

"Give me some tape," he demanded.

At once, the teenager was unnerved, realizing that the fellow was serious, and his face became hot with fear. "Look.., if you want money.., there's not any. The owner took the cash drawer with him."

"I didn't say anything about money," he snapped in response. "I just need some tape!"

The kid ran over to the desk and handed him a roll of transparent tape. "It's all we've got."

"It'll do just fine," replied Preston as he fixed the photograph to the center of the page which read;

Have you seen this lad?

His name is Donovan Winthrop.

If so, call 081-89-7243

AND GET YOUR REWARD!!

Glancing at the terrible likeness again, he handed the paper to the kid and said, "Make me a hundred copies."

"Then you don't want money, after all?" the kid asked.

"Of course not," replied Preston. "That's absurd! What do you think this is? A stick up?" he scoffed.

Realizing that the intruder was half-cocked but harmless, the kid suddenly got a new wind of courage and said, "Forget it, you ol' lolly goggin' wacko! You'd better scram or I'll call the police!"

Preston shuddered at the suggestion, but there was no time for a fight. He needed those posters.

"Look, I'll pay you handsomely for your services," he pleaded.

The teenager just smirked, "I don't want your money. Ol' silvertail! Get out of this store!" he threw the roll of tape at him. "You'd have to hold me at gunpoint before I'd help you" he smirked again.

Preston turned on one heel totally confused. "What is with the youth of today? So disrespectful..," as he headed to the truck and despairingly ran his trembling hand under the seat, feeling for the black revolver he had stumbled upon earlier.

Then he stormed his way back into the store, muttering as he went, and shoved the piece of paper in the teenagers face as he waved the gun unsteadily, "Very well then.., get to printing!"

Donovan had been chasing through the woods for so long that everything was pitch dark. He couldn't see two steps in front of him, much less the Aborigine he had lost an hour ago. And the noises of insects had grown so piercingly loud that he could barely sense what was around him.

He felt his way over to a large gum tree, and though it was caked with loose bark that kept coming off in his hands, he managed to climb up its many branches.

Once he had found the core of a limb that forked wide enough to support his back, he sat down in the cradle and pulled his aching foot inward. The stickiness of blood rubbed off on his fingers.

"Where'd that come from?" the foot slipped from his hand as he hugged a little closer to the core. The ranger at the Tourist Center had warned the others about the dangers of exploring alone and his words haunted him, "Tasmanian devils in the bushes, snakes in the trees, crocodiles resting on the banks, along with meat-eating lizards and an occasional sink hole or booby trap"

Something scowled. The rumble sounded above the buzz of insects and gloats of frogs.

Donovan grabbed a loose branch, "What's that?" his thoughts pleaded silently as his heart raced.

Quickly, he felt for his shirt in his backpack and wrapped it tightly around his foot so that the blood wouldn't trickle down the turn of the tree.

The scowl grew closer.

For a faint moment, it almost sounded like Preston snoring, but it was only wishful thinking. Donovan turned his ear toward the ground and listened for motion below.

It was directly above him.

His bottom lip began to quiver and he pulled his backpack close to his chest.

With the sudden movement, the warning increased.

He sat still, hoping that it wouldn't come any closer. And the only thing he knew to do was to pull out his cell phone, only to discover that the light came on, but the battery was too low to make a call. He stared at the red line on the battery symbol and attempted to press numbers on the keypad, and then the light died out as well. He took a deep breath and realized the error of his predicament. He hadn't listened to wise advice and now that his world was behind him, he was faced with the disturbing sense of darkness with only the density of forest floor beneath him.
Chapter Nine

The bright expanse of morning broke through the canopy of darkness that had enveloped the night sky, and settled humus drops of water on everything that had left the air thick and moist. The atmosphere was alive again, as birds hopped from limb to limb singing their morning rituals, and marsh insects hummed above lily pads among drooping blades of grass. And the peculiar blend of strange noises, munching and laughing, disrupted the images that had been running free in Donovan's minds eye.

He almost slipped from the palm of the three branches that had held him throughout the night, as he shifted his back against the prickly bark and retorted, "Stop it Viola! You're hurting me," while he tried to unglue his heavy eye-lids. He actually had to rub them twice with his splinter filled and sap smeared hands, before he remembered where he was.

Finally though, it all came back to him.., running through the jungle barefoot.., chasing after a savage native.., or was it merely an exaggeration of a bad dream?...

Nonetheless, he was faced with the stark reality of being out in the middle of nowhere, all alone.

The navy sports-coat that had shielded him from the creepy crawlies and the nippy night air was tucked close beneath his chin. When he sat up to stretch his aching torso and uncrimp his pretzeled knees, he was in total discomfort as he reached behind his back to peel away the loose pieces of bark that left misshapen indentations of fading red tattoos.

He definitely needed his shirt, but where was it? Then he was reminded by a sharp throbbing pain and looked down. His foot was wearing it. Just like in gym class when he tied his jacket around his waist, so was his shirt sleeves twisted high into a double knot. It didn't reveal much of what was underneath, but he could tell by the dried crimson stains that he should probably wait until after breakfast to take a look. His stomach was groaning with hunger pains and he was already queasy from the lack of two meals he had missed so far.

When he reached behind his head to remove the flattened backpack that had served as a pillow, he searched for something to eat, but found nothing, except for the half-eaten Toblerone bar.

Savoring the first bite, he glanced up through the opening of foliage at the warming sky. At least it would warm up again and he wouldn't have to suffer the cold of night. Then he heard the munching sound again as he took another bite. It was a koala fastened to the tree, while foraging on a leaf covered with bubbles of water.

"So you're the one that gave me such of a hard time last night!" he said with a laugh. It hadn't been the old cockney snoring after all, but the marsupial keeping him at bay with the scowling.

Since he had taken the warning well, he tried to recall whether or not the ranger had said anything about koalas being dangerous, but he didn't recollect it. So he watched the small and lazy round eyes blink as it munched on the greenery.

Within a matter of minutes, he reached the conclusion that this one wasn't any threat and he wanted to touch it, to somehow entice it into coming closer so that he could befriend it.

"Want a taste?" he asked as he extended his arm upward with slow ease.

The koala mildly seemed interested as Donovan gripped his legs tight around the branch to keep his balance.

Just as quickly though, it used its only defense against the intruder. With a low rumble and a sweep of its paw, its territory was safe again, as Donovan jerked his arm away at the threat. The chocolate tumbled to the muddy soil below.

"Oh, no!" he slapped the side of his head with his sticky hand, as he watched it swim in a covering of ants. "I could sure go for a spinach omelet about now."

Before he pushed up on the limb to raise his upper body, he caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle of marsh that had stilled to a glassy reflection.

It was like looking into an antique mirror as his face was dotted with shades of brown, but the dirty smudges were really his, and his hair was matted into stiff peaks from not having combed it after the evening swim at Jim Jim. At first sight, he started to lick his hand to slick it down, but with a double-take he decided that he could learn to like the new look.

"Oh well," he sighed, looking up at the koala, "how about sharing your grub with me?"

He broke off a leaf and took a bite, thinking that the faster he chewed the better it would taste.

"Yuk!" he spit out the remaining pieces while slapping at his tongue, when he suddenly heard the sound of laughter again. It seemed to echo throughout the forest and he couldn't tell which direction it was coming from, but it startled him so badly that he lost his balance again—this time falling head long into the muddy stretch of marshland below.

Quickly, he turned to the left to see who was watching, as his tan slacks were now soaked with rotting vegetation.

"Sheweee!" he fumed and kicked, which just made a bigger splash and doused his head in the process. That made him so angry that he threw a fit on the spot, as he splashed around in the mud until every part of his body was covered.

The laughter continued.

On a branch high atop another tree, perched a small brown and black striped bird, cackling away. Feeling foolishly glad that no one had seen the tantrum, he laughed too.

"Oh, I get it.., a kookaburra," he said as he stood up and started slapping away some of the mud from his clothes. All the while singing, "Kookaburra sings in an old gum tree, eating all the gum drops he can see"

There was more laughter.

He stopped singing. The sound was more distinct than before and his eyes searched the surrounding walls of vegetation again.

All at once, it was right there in front of him, the flash of ebony and flamed hair—the Aborigine.

"Yippi Yippi Yee!... Booga Booga Boo!" he yelled out of renewed excitement.

With the rapid sound of feet trampling over brush, the boy became a blur with the rest of the forest again.

Donovan's only hope was fleeting before his eyes. Hurriedly, he pulled his backpack from the branch and limped off after him.

It had been some night for Preston, as he had raced around the city and made that poor kid nail up all of those posters. Then there was the getaway for the ranch, followed by the crash. He drew a blank after that.

It was all very foggy to him as he rolled over and shielded his eyes with the palm of his hand. He was too afraid to open them for fear that he would be in a place that did away with men as mad as him.

The scenes continued to flash before him, but they weren't of the day before, but of years gone by like the day he had driven the lad back from the hospital when Elizabeth was much more youthful Allister as a lad scrapping with Yancey in the back seat as their father looked on and then his own childhood He could see the meager farmstead with his seven brothers and sisters spinning around him joined hand in hand, their faces chapped, and their arms and legs covered with scrapes. Whatever happened to them, he wondered And whatever happened to his life?

The groans rose deep from the pit of his stomach. All had been lost somewhere in the bottom of an endless bottle.

As he laid there prostrate with his head pressed flat against the sun parched grass, he wondered how late in the day it was, because his face and neck were already stinging from the intense rays coming down.

Something wet whisked across his cheek. Slowly, he inched his hand through the grass to wipe it off and groaned more as the beads from the heat had formed on his skin. Painstakingly, he forced his head up and a notch to the right so that he could adjust his eyes to the blinding light of day.

But the more he strained to see, the more his head throbbed. So he dropped it back down, closed his eyes and sighed.

There was another wet tap, but this time on his nose. He wiggled it, thinking that it was a blade of grass with an insect on it, which was still enough to force his eyes wide open. But what came into focus was even more surreal than his nightmares.., a lizard from hell.

Preston wailed, which startled the reptilian. Its headdress of ruffles flared straight out from all sides as it hissed.

Another long shriek abounded from the old man as he struggled to his feet. With all of his might, he ran through the thick grass until he reached the highway, as though the demons of his past were flicking forked tongues at his heels—but the lizard, in the opposite direction.

Frantically, he headed down the road with a trail of dust lifting behind him, and he could see the glare of metal coming in the distance.

"I'm saved.., I'm saved," he yelled.

As the four-wheel safari truck got closer, the driver saw the delirious fellow flogging wildly towards the vehicle. When he saw the debris from the wreckage further down the road, he turned on the red flashing lights. The white off-road van was wrapped around a Eucalyptus tree with a gas can, spare tire, and bumper blocking both lanes.

When the vehicle stopped and two armed men stepped out, Preston was nervous. But when they pinned his arms behind his back and forced him to taste the warm Australian soil again, he was terrified.

"That's him!" the teenager shouted from inside the vehicle. "That's the man that held me at gunpoint!"
Chapter Ten

Veins of perspiration flowed from Donovan's itching forehead and down his neck, merging with the sweaty streaks that had gathered at the base of his collar bones. His exposed white skin was drenched and burning from the briars and bushes he had spent the morning trudging through. The ninety degree temperature felt more like one hundred and ten as a wave of humidity rose from the forest floor. It was the closest he had been to walking through an open oven and the farthest he had ever imagined going from civilization.

Fading glimpses of the burnished head boy had flashed through the thinned areas of trees where rays of sun had spotlighted the ground, but where was he? Now that the thick wall of green was behind him, the dotted plain of scrubland and sky seemed to go on forever.

"How will I ever get back?" he mumbled to himself. He couldn't tell which way was north or south and resented that he had bought the woomera instead of a compass.

Without any sense of direction, he bent over to grab his knees as he heaved in and out of breath. The sweat sprayed from the roots of his hair as he shook his head, but the beads that hit his chest and back only stung more against the cuts and scrapes the flies were stabbing at.

Collapsing into the grass, he cried, "Have at it, you blood sucking leeches!"

Then he tossed his jacket over his face and closed his eyes. If he let his mind escape, he could easily entertain the thought of being cast into the stone age.

Throughout the broad open range of grass boomed red tinged monoliths that erupted from the earths surface like dormant volcanoes. Some even took on shapes that gave him the sensation of being watched. But to the natives, those mounds would have been ancestral gods.

Every part of the landscape was sacred to the Aborigines and every formation had meaning to the Bunitji people. According to their tradition, it was all created by Indjuwanydjuwa, an ancestral being who turned a bare plain into the colorful radiance of Arnhem land as part of his journeys. After his masterpiece was finished, he changed into a rock and surrounded himself with pink lotus flowers.

The same could be said about everything Donovan passed, but to him he had only been taught about one God. And yet he couldn't keep the question from surfacing.., "Would that God be able to hear him in the remotest part of the world?... And could He send someone to lead him back to safety?"

He felt his world spinning beneath him as the contour of his body meshed with the grass. His throat was so dry that it hurt to swallow and he didn't think he had the strength to get back up. He didn't know what might sliver up beside him, either.

Lifting one arm of the jacket, he saw that his backpack was too many feet away and he felt something crawling around in his make-shift bandage. He wiggled his foot, but it just dug deeper into his heel. So he sat up and untied the mud stained shirt.

Peeling away the thick layer of cushion, he turned to one side and winced, "Oh, please don't let it be a leech.., I was only joking."

"Ahhh!" he screamed as the black slimy strip appeared beneath the bandage. It was attached to the wound on his heel and he kicked several times, but it wouldn't come off. He looked around for a stick and couldn't find one and he wasn't about to touch it with his hands. So he hopped over to his backpack and removed a couple of the cards, and cupped them beneath the flat worm. And with one swift scoop, it was off.

He tried to regain his composure with a deep inhale, but with it came a taste of the green leaves he had eaten that morning. Everything in his stomach spewed out, as he coughed and gagged with tears filling his eyes.

"There has to be water nearby," he choked in agony and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, rather than having to shield the glare, the bright ball of gas had resigned behind the clouds for a moments relief. And in the shade of iridescence his face turned to stone.

"Water!" he yelled as he looked around. "I'm going to die here without it!", he sobbed beneath his breath. There was nothing more he knew to do and he felt too tired to keep going without it. He wiped his forehead with his arm and tried sipping some of the sweat, which just left a more bitter aftertaste than the leaves.

Then as the sun came out and slipped beneath the cloud cover again, it brought with it a ray of shimmering light that rippled across a patch of wildflowers.

"Oh, please don't let it be a tin pan," he crossed his fingers.

Leaning all of weight onto his left foot, he pulled his backpack through the high grass and to the stretch of flora, where he finally found his treasure underneath—clear marsh.

From where the Aborigine stood peering through a thicket of trees, the Balanda was an amusing sight, splashing water on his face and arms as though the billabong would dry up before him. What was he doing in the outback all alone and why had he been following him? He tried measuring up the one who was wandering aimlessly on sacred ground.

He would have walked right up and asked, but the pale mate looked like he needed the soak. And since he had made good timing on his journey into manhood so far, he decided to watch for a while.

Now that the outside was somewhat refreshed, Donovan pulled off the wet pants that were clinging to his legs. The two brown socks were the only thing he had to treat the wound with, and he pulled them both onto the same foot. It might not help the infection, but at least it would keep the bugs off and allow him to focus on his biggest problem, how to find a decent meal when there were no restaurants around.

Three raptors were circling a clearing in the woods. And although he wasn't interested in any leftovers, those birds looked pretty tasty. If the woomera was half as fast as the ranger let on, he would be eating within an hour.

Cautiously, he approached the opening where the large black hawks picked at the decaying wallaby. With uncertainty for this strange tool he gripped in his hand, he reared back and flung it at the smallest of the three. It shot through the air and hit the dirt, completely missing the bird, but ruffling its feathers at the swipe.

"Woo hoo!" he exclaimed as he stomped over in a fury to retrieve it.

The hawks had taken refuge in the tree-tops. So Donovan hid quietly behind a bush for a few minutes until they reappeared.

This time the birds were on alert as each one took turns swooping down to pick at the carcass, but Donovan wouldn't be outsmarted so easily. With all of his strength and agility, he aimed for the largest and hoisted the woomera high above his head. It cut into the trunk of a skinny tree and stayed there, too high up for him to reach.

"For crying out loud!" he shouted again. As much as he was trying to remain positive, matters just seemed to get worse. So he reached down to gather some rocks, and caught wind of the stench from the kill. It was so nauseating that he questioned whether or not he was really hungry enough to eat one of the birds.

"I've got to!" he concluded, half famished. He would try one more time and if that didn't work, he would begin foraging for roots.

As he contemplated his next move, his hand happened upon a hefty-sized rock. As soon as he picked it up though, he quickly slammed it back down on the monstrous looking creature behind it, a Thorny Devil.

It was the most bizarre lizard he had ever seen, and his hands trembled as he watched it twist around, hissing in the dirt.

Thorns protruded from it at every angle of the rounded shell attached to its back. It was in that instant that Donovan made it a point to put his shoes back on. He could slip and slide along the forest floor, but he wasn't about to step on one of those.

He picked up another large rock and smashed it down again against its head. The lizard eventually stopped writhing.

Donovan studied the find for a bit, and cautiously took it by the tail and suspended it in the air.

"Nah," he sighed and tossed it back on the ground. "I'd rather have the bird." Now he had conquered and was ready to do it again.

This time, he took the big rock, pranced a good striking distance from the prey and threw it as hard as he could.., but out of nowhere.., something beat him to it.

A whirl from the trees shot straight up at the raptor with lightning speed. With a thump, the bird dropped to the ground and the object landed beside it—a boomerang.

Donovan spun around to see where it came from and found the Aborigine boy facing him about fifteen feet away. The chiseled white lines of paint on his black skin were more detailed than before. And with the exception of a leather strip that stretched about his groin and waist, the native was naked.

Neither said a word until the Aborigine grinned, revealing a mouthful of twisted ivory teeth.

"Thanks," smiled Donovan hesitantly.

"You're welcome," the Aborigine replied in a mild toned voice that sounded oddly Australian in dialect.

Donovan was more than a little surprised. "You mean..," he paused as though removing the blinder of ignorance from his eyes, "you speak English?"

"Sure I do, mate," the boy replied as he walked over and retrieved his boomerang, and slipped it into the narrow strip of leather.

"Then why didn't you answer me when I called to you before?" Donovan asked.

The Aborigine grinned again, "Just wanted to make sure you weren't loony that's all.., goin' around yellin, yippi yippi yoo," he answered defensively. "What kind of language is that?"

Suddenly, Donovan felt stupid and embarrassed. "I don't know really," he thought about it and then laughed too, realizing how foolish he must have sounded. "I was just trying to get your attention."

The Aborigine walked over to the Thorny Devil and picked it up by the tail, and turned to Donovan as though it was appetizing.

"You can have him," he gestured out of good will, "if you show me how to cook that bird."

"Well," he scratched his head, "I guess it's a fair trade. My name is Neji, by the way."

Donovan smiled, feeling more secure in the fact that he had a new friend and was no longer alone. "I'm Donovan."

There was no exchange of hands, only friendly glances as Neji nodded toward the bird and motioned, "Follow me."

Donovan got his backpack and strapped it over his shoulders, grabbed up the bird by the legs as its head drug against the ground, and walked slowly behind him.
Chapter Eleven

Bumper to bumper traffic and streets filled with a blend of cosmopolitan multiculturalism with the eccentricity of outback openness, clamored together in a bustling array of holiday fever. Not that the Aussies ever needed a reason to celebrate, the germ ran as freely through their veins as the golden liquid they consumed by the gallons.

Streamers and confetti floated from the highest story windows of modern office buildings and was trampled underfoot by the parade of historical gaiety that rounded the corner of Smith Street.

The eight miles from the Darwin International Airport had been a continual stop and go from the start. Elizabeth had already nibbled her finger nails down to the quick and the tips were on her lap.

Allister took her hand and forced it by his side. "Please love, you'll be needing those to gouge out the old cockneys eyes," his jaw clenched tight.

"Oh, stop it," she jerked her hand free. "That'll only make matters worse. I shouldn't have left them anyway..," she turned to face the window as her eyes festered red with tears, remembering the last words Donovan had said to her at the airport. "Please don't leave me"

The sorrowful vision was felt beyond the window as pedestrians began to notice how distraught she looked from inside the stalled yellow car. In the stream of mascara she rubbed her hand down her face, as though trying to wipe the anxiety away. The sea of brown faces was watching all looking directly at her more Asians and Aborigines than anything else.., her mind drifted off.

Then she snapped out of the mesmerizing trance of futility and gut wrenching guilt. She had to think about something else or she wouldn't be able to help either of them. So she concentrated on Darwin and how it looked more like Indonesia and Southeast Asia than anything to the South.., but so much like Honolulu.

"This is absurd!" Allister spoke out of total frustration through gritted teeth. The cab driver weaved in and out of lanes until nothing was passable and everything came to a standstill.

"Can't you get around them? It's a life and death situation!" he scoffed.

"Doin' the best I can, mate. Just sit tight. The roads 'll clear up in a jiffy," the scruffy driver tried to reason with him.

"It's in the middle of the day. Why don't they wait until after dark?" he complained as an aerial display of fireworks exploded above them.

The cabby turned on the windshield wipers to clear away some of the confetti and Allister gripped the door handle, as he calculated the distance between the small terminal. He was concluding that he could probably get there faster on foot.

It was indeed Anzac Day. As Elizabeth's eyes searched the teaming faces of camaraderie, she wondered which ones would be kind enough to care for her son.., a stranger in a distant land. Families surrounded them by the dozen, with their happy children, all appeared glad to be there. "Surely they would be kind to a..", she mumbled when a man caught her attention. He looked different than the colorful profusion of people as he stood with his back to them, eyeing a poster that was nailed to a telephone pole. The clothing was so rugged, shredded blue jeans, a knife strapped to his side, the roll on his back, and the oversized brown hat with the bobbing corks.

"Whatever are they for?" she mumbled to herself again.

"Yes, love?" Allister asked, as though returning from the void himself.

"Is that what a swagman looks like?" her voice was non-evasive.

"I suppose so," he replied, not really listening as his thoughts trailed off again.

The man's knotted brown shoulder length hair separated with the wind from beneath his hat, and sent the corks into a celestial spin. A fog of smoke remained where he had stood, as he smothered out the lit cigarette into the sandy pavement. And as soon as he walked away, Elizabeth screamed as though something had surged through her innermost parts like electricity.

"What is it?!" Allister anxiously jumped in his seat and stopped when his head met the sagging overhead.

"Over there!" she pointed. "That poster!"

She opened the door and leapt from the car. So Allister slid out of the car behind her as he tried to make out the peculiarly blown up face of a child with a finger lodged up his nose.

"It can't be?!" he said horrified.

Elizabeth ripped the poster from the pole and turned to him, all the while burning with rage. "Who did this?!"

Before he could reply, Allister had to brace her by the shoulders to help keep her composure. She was so upset that she was already hyperventilating.

Luckily, they didn't have to walk very far until they reached the beginnings of a free flowing stream. Donovan helped Neji gather a pile of rocks so that they could form a fire pit. With every instruction, Donovan listened and was eager to participate. Once they had enough rocks stacked around the small circle, Neji took a stick and scraped a rock against it until all of the bark had peeled away. Then he took a string of leather and looped it around the stick so that he would shift it back and forth quickly, into the loose and scrunched up straw. Donovan watched as he continued to quickly friction the stick back and forth until some smoke appeared. Then he leaned in and blew between his cupped hands and took another bunching of straw and ignited it with the flame from the other. They had fire. Donovan cheered at the discovery and Neji laughed.

"Never made a fire before, my friend?" he questioned.

"No," Donovan shook his head. "I've never even cooked anything before," he laughed to his own amusement. "Tell me what to do," he suggested.

So Neji tossed the bird by the legs to Donovan and told him to start pulling out the feathers. Donovan sat on the ground and took to it. At first he had removed a feather or two at a time, and then became aggressive over the challenge and started removing them several at a time, while Neji continued to stoke the fire and added sticks of wood. By the time Donovan had finished plucking the bird, Neji had found another portion of a limb that forked into a v-shape and twisted it into the ground next to the fire pit. He took another leather string and wrapped it around the feet of the bird, and then tied it to a stick as well.

"Watch this," he demonstrated as he took matters into his own hands, as he tied another longer stick to the strap of leather. After wedging the stick into the fork of the other, he sat back and held onto it like a fishing pole, as the bird dangled over the fire. "This 'll make a good roast," he declared.

Donovan was pleased as he sat back and watched as the flames licked the skin and began to sizzle over the heat.

"I'm glad you decided to help me," he said. "Don't know what I would've done if you hadn't bothered."

Neji just motioned a slight wave of his hand. "You don't have to thank me, mate. This is what we do around these parts, is help each other. Besides, I was getting hungry too," he laughed.

Donovan laughed too. And within a short time, the meat had blackened and was ready for consumption.

Neji removed it from the flames and removed a knife from the small pouch around his waist. Then he cut off a leg quarter and handed it to Donovan.

Donovan insisted, "You first."

Neji shrugged and sank his teeth into the steaming fowl. "It's good," he gestured.

"Yeah?" Donovan questioned out of curiosity. "What does it taste like?"

Neji took another bite and replied, "hawk."

Donovan smirked and tried it for himself. The bird had a gamy flavor and was in need of some spice, but he just pretended it was duck, as his brain began to process clearly again.

"So..," he asked as Neji went for a wing, "Do you go to school?"

"Went to school—up to three months ago," Neji smacked. "Now I'm learnin' to live off the land, just like my father and the rest of my clan."

"You're kidding," Donovan's interest was aroused. "You mean you used to live in the city?"

"Not exactly, but close enough. The bush is better," he said reflectively.

Donovan didn't know what to say. He recalled seeing some of the more run down parts of town where people were living in metal buildings and government shanties, and he tried to visualize the comparison in his mind. Looking up he saw the expanse of blue sky, the hedge of lush green behind them, mountains to climb, and freedom to roam and explore. To him it may have been untamed wilderness, but to Neji, an extended backyard.

Finishing off the bone, he sucked it dry and tucked it into his small leather pouch that criss-crossed his shoulder and chest.

"Is that for luck?" asked Donovan.

"No, mate," he replied. "It's part of my initiation into manhood. I keep a part of every kill to take back to the elders."

Donovan had a hard time grasping it all. The fact that Neji hunted as a part of every day life when he was rarely able to walk into the kitchen without Miss Lucia scooting him along, didn't seem fair. He wouldn't be considered an adult until he had lived twice that long.

"Well.., what else do you have to do?" he asked, even more curious than before.

Neji studied Donovan for a moment and wondered if he should be revealing such secretive information, before deciding that it was probably common knowledge by now. After all, his ancestors had been doing similar rituals for thousands of years.

"Well, it's like this," he added. "I go to different sacred sites and take back things that are hidden for the corroboree."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like this spear..," he proudly rubbed the tip with his fingers, deciding that he would keep the rest to himself for now.

Donovan was interested, but puzzled. "How long does it take to find all of things that you have to take back?"

"'Bout three days. I'm on a walkabout, discovering the meaning of the Dreamtime for myself," never really offering more than was asked for. Then his eyes narrowed in on the white boy, "Why did you follow me?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I guess it seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"Where's your family?" remarked Neji.

"It doesn't matter. They won't be back until the end of the week anyway," Donovan shrugged.

"Why didn't they take you with them?" Neji asked, and thought they must have left him at the park.

"Because they didn't want me to go with them. That's why," his expression grew hard as he thought about his parents being on the other side of the continent. Then there was Preston and Viola. He thought about how he shouldn't have left them behind like that and he felt guilty over it. He was also worried about what they must be thinking happened to him. Then he admitted, "Truth is.., I got here by accident and I don't even know how go get back."

Neji took a stick and slapped at the simmering blaze, before kicking it out with sand. He couldn't imagine his own family leaving him anywhere. They were very close and always looked out for each other.

"Sure you want to go back?" he asked.

Donovan raised an eyebrow. It had simply been a question of finding the path back to civilization, but now that he had a taste of what independence was really about he wanted to think about it.

He wasn't too sure about the answer, but he said it anyway, "I don't know.., maybe it's time that I discovered the meaning of life for myself."

Neji agreed with a nod and a smile. "Alright then, but I think we better come up with a new name for you. If you want to become part of a clan, then you need a new name."

Donovan nodded in agreement. "I just don't want any name though. It's got to be a cool one" he interjected.

Neji looked around and then back at Donovan. "I should call you Tarka."

"Why, Tarka?" questioned Donovan. "What does it mean?"

"Well," thought Neji. "You're skin is white like egg shells and even though egg shells are very fragile, like the limp you are walkin' on, they seem to hold up pretty well under pressure. So it's not an insult, but more of an expression about your outer shell."

Donovan thought about it and shook his head. "If I'm going to be a man now, I want a real name that isn't about who I am now, but what I'm in the process of becoming. I want a warrior's name."

Neji thought about it some more. "Then what is it that you want to do? What do you want to be your greatest strength?"

Donovan looked around at the land, the mountains and the sky. Then he focused in on Neji's spear. "I want to be a great spear thrower," he replied.

Neji grinned with a greater inclination of his new mate's spirit. "Okay then. You will be Miro, the great spear thrower, but you will have to earn it."

This gave Donovan a sense of encouragement. "Miro, hmmm. I will be called Miro, from here on out."

Both were pleased with the new name and with the prospect of the challenges to come. Donovan thought about his new dark skinned companion and asked, "Then what does Neji mean?"

"It is simple," he replied. "Elder brother." "It is also my father's name," he laughed.

"I have always wanted an older brother," added Donovan. "That is what I will think of when I say your name."

"All right then," Neji answered. "Now that we have it all settled we should continue on, since there is a lot for you to learn. It will be getting dark before we reach the caves."

Donovan looked at the thorny devil and before he could say anything, Neji tied more leather string around its hind legs so that he could carry it with ease. Then he tossed it over his shoulder and they continued on an unmarked path of sandstone and red clay dirt. Getting to the caves before dark would be important. It would provide safe cover from all that prowled under the night sky.
Chapter Twelve

The dim fluorescent panels flickered overhead as disparaging wails swam at Preston from beyond the steel gates. Though it was only a moat of barbed wire that surrounded the modern facility, haunting thoughts of being thrown into a dungeon where a hunched ax-man awaited, succumbed him. It was just the county jail.

Nor was it a medieval barbarian thrusting him forward by the hair of his head, but a thin balding man in uniform with thick glasses that kept him moving forward by the butt of a billy-stick, which was rammed into the core of his spine.

Ever since he had been taken into custody, the patrolman had been biting bits of sarcasm with a sardonic grin. Aussie slang was as foreign to Preston as the dictate that held him there, but he knew that this one was out to make an example of him. And if it wasn't for the bottom about to drop from his gut, he would have tried to run for it. It was all he could do to make the six remaining steps as he struggled to stay on his feet.

The sudden bout of nausea was sweeping over him in waves, which wasn't so much due to the night before, or even the morning after, but the overwhelming stench of body odor and urine that clung to every plastered wall of the compound he was entering.

"Temporary insanity!" he pleaded as the skinny man dug the end of the billy a little deeper into his back, sending him to the floor of the holding cell as the cage door slammed shut. As soon as he hit bottom, his hands landed in a warm puddle, and when he turned to the row of bars, the guard laughed while looping the keys around his belt.

"Should've kept your sticky-beak in the Kingdom. That'll teach ya," he mocked.

"Easy on 'em blokes. This one's dinki-di," as the shiny brown boots faded from view.

"Wait!... You can't leave me here!" Preston sobbed ridiculously. "No.., it can't be..," he added to the moans next door as he tried envisioning a sane return to his homeland.

Instantly, he was brought back to the present by a deep guttural grunt coming from behind. Inching backwards, his feet met the wall. He had no intention of turning around, but his only remaining choice was to look at the two cell-mates he would be spending the rest of his life with.

He vomited. Either the demons of his past had hideously transformed themselves into human form, or he was in hell.

The two hundred and ninety pound Irishman pumped the flabs of thick skin, which used to be biceps, sending the belly of the hula girl into a impregnated dance. The assortment of tattoos lined both arms, but the black figure carved on his forehead was vexing.

Preston's curiosity met the Irishmans gaze as he tried to make out the image, but the folds of loose skin creased out the clarity when he grinned.

A yelp came from the gray haired Aborigine, who had a beard that puffed straight out. At the hem of his checkered pants leaked the trail of yellow that was now foaming at the base of the clogged metal drain.

He vomited again.

Even though the sun stopped shining for brief interludes, the blaze from Neji's head was always there, glistening almost as bright as his bare behind that lead the way. The thought of exposing his own backside to the elements had crossed Donovan's mind a time or two. The sopping wet khakis were rubbing his skin raw, and if it hadn't been for the minion of ants that were cutting paths up his ankles, he would have forfeited the clinging pants long ago.

Neji was a serious woodsman. The way he moved and breathed through the bush was as though he was a part of the natural surroundings. His mannerisms demanded quiet concentration while he scanned each new opening, sighting bark for claw marks, sniffing the air for scents, and eyeing the scenery for shifts in pattern. He seemed to read the forest like a book, mapping his way to each destination.

After an hour or more of hushed silence, he finally broke into song in his native Gagadjuan tongue, as the narrow stream they had been following opened into the mouth of a river fork.

Donovan's tired pace quickened as he heard the water rushing over the rocks beneath Neji's somber tone. It was the best thing he had seen all day, and while kicking off his shoes, he limped over to the rivers edge, kneeling down to lap up some water.

"Wouldn't do that, mate," warned Neji. "Least not without checking it first."

"Why not?" Donovan turned around, sensing danger.

"And I wouldn't turn my back to those waters, either," he added. 'They don't call it the Alligator River just 'cause it sounds pretty."

"I don't see anything," Donovan's voice raised an octave as he scooted away from the bank.

"Over there," pointed Neji. "Looks like a stump.., but see it go under.., and there, too," he pointed again in another direction. "Watch it go under You just have to be on the lookout, that's all."

Suddenly, Donovan flashed back to the reptiles he had seen at the Crocodile Farm and the swagman holding his hand over the wall. He remembered the rangers warning about them sunning on the banks this time of year.

Looking down at his arms, he saw how the dirt had formed dark ringlets around the soft blonde hairs of his baked skin. "How does a person get cooled off around here?"

Neji went to a sandy spot of soil and sank his spear into it, tossed the prickly lizard into the shade and laid down on his back. Then he began rolling around. "Like this," he demonstrated.

"You've got to be kidding," Donovan dropped onto the sand and waved his arms in the compacted granules. "Just like making angels in the snow," he laughed.

"Is there a lot of snow where you're from?" Neji asked as he stood back up, refreshed from drying up the beads of perspiration.

"Oh yes, up until a month before we left," Donovan replied.

Covered from head to toe in dirty brown sand, he rustled his hair around with his hands and it soon took the same reddish mat as Neji's. "How do I look?" he chuckled.

"Like you should've stayed with your family," Neji laughed in response.

Donovan's expression changed and Neji could tell what he was thinking.

"It's a full days hike if you head back south. Just follow the sun," he suggested.

"And what about your village?" asked Donovan.

Neji looked around. "About two more days.., but I have to go east first, to another sacred site. A place where the Balanda seldom go."

"What will you find there?" Donovan asked.

"Another piece of my past.., and a good place to camp for the night. Which way will you go? I must continue the journey."

Donovan looked to the south and without turning back to Neji he asked, "How long do you plan to carry that prickly lizard around?"

"Till supper time," he smiled, "less somethin' better comes along before then."

"I'll take it off your hands for a while," Donovan offered. "If something better comes along, can I take a stab at getting it with your spear?"

"Sure you can, Miro. If I'm gonna teach you how to shine in these parts as an outdoor adventure man, you've got to start somewhere," he said.

Donovan agreed with a nod and said, "I've never eaten Thorny Devil before"

And he silently hoped that he wouldn't have to.
Chapter Thirteen

The foliage filled sunroom would have been a good place to relax on the most carefree of days, but even the activity and day songs of parakeets wasn't enough to calm Allisters nerves. Nothing would until his son was found.

A trail of ashes followed him on the marble floor where the last twelve cigarettes had burned to the quick. He had hardly inhaled two or three, but he smoke alone sent cloudy spirals into the glass dome, filtering out any fresh oxygen.

Angrily, he combed his fingers past his temples, trying to ease the tension, or to at least force some answers into his overwrought conscious. Unable to show any optimism, he was even less of a comfort to his sobbing wife.

Unlike her husband, Elizabeth hadn't budged from the end of the wicker settee all day. She kept her face buried in the palms of her hands as the hot tears stung her eyes. It felt as though every part of her soul was coming unhinged, and all she could think of was distressing thoughts about the multitude of evils that could have befallen Donovan. Where could he be?... Is he hungry?... Even alive?... Where was Yancey and why haven't they heard anything yet?...

Mary walked into the room with a pot of tea, along with a dish of biscuits. After pouring two cups, she placed a warm embrace around her sister-in-laws shoulders, speaking kind words of hope.

"You need to keep your strength up, Liz. Donovan will want to find you in one piece"

Abruptly, Elizabeth looked up. Her eyes were flashing hot and her face was wet as she yelled, "Oh, shut up!", which sent the yellow parakeets into an acrobatic whirlwind.

Allister twisted around at the directiveness in her voice.

Mary dropped her cup of tea.

"Wrong choice of words, I suppose."

Before his brother had arrived, Yancey got the call from the jail. His ute had been impounded and the old cockney was behind bars. And rather than worrying Allister any more than was necessary, he decided to keep it under wraps and make use of the opportunity to put more pressure on the authorities. He also didn't have the heart to face them without being able to shed some light on the situation. So he caught a ride to the jail with one of the patrolmen who knew him.

It had been a while since he had be required to fetch one of his fellow blokes from the hole, but the trip was all too familiar, especially when he stepped inside and grasped his nose from the smell. It was a good thing he had his connections. Otherwise, the frazzled shell of a man that he once endeared as a guardian might have rotted in his own waste.

"Thank heavens you've come!" Preston gave an exuberant sigh of relief.

"Yeah, well.., don't go thankin' me yet. You just can't go 'round puttin' a bloody gun in peoples faces and not expect to pay out the bum," he scoffed as the guardsman unlocked the cage.

Preston didn't even look back at his two cell mates who were fighting over the roll of toilet paper.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude..," he sincerely gestured.

Yancey threw his arms around the gaping man's neck. "The way I figure it, you paid your dues already. I think the gray hair started comin' in when you were thirty five. It's amazin' what two spoiled lads can do to a"

"Um.., hmmm," Preston cleared his throat as they headed up the stairs. "Believe it or not, the two of you wore halos compared to this one."

However, the dark circles of concern weighed heavily upon his eyes. "I just hope the lad is all right. I really didn't mean to"

"Hey," Yancey stopped him. "We all get a little stupid now and then, but there's no need in lettin' it get the best of ya. There's still a lot of good years tucked beneath that gray cap. You just have to guard 'em, that's all. No quick fix is ever worth losin' the wits about ya."

After swinging open the heavy glass doors to the free world, Yancey nodded knowingly at the old soul beside him. Nothing was ever really free. It all had a price, and Preston must have been very aware of that price to have lasted all those years with his rigid family. Unfortunately, it had almost cost him his life, and his nephew's was yet to be determined.

It had taken most of the afternoon to arrange bail, but there were still a few hours of daylight left and he was ready to put it all behind him.

"What do you say to a tall one?" Yancey looked to an open pub. "Coffee, that is..," he scrubbed the whiskers on his chin. "We've got some strategizing to do."

"Indeed..," Preston's posture straightened with a new air of confidence, one that said he was glad to be included in the search and part of the living again. "Indeed we do."

"What's it like not having to go to school anymore? No homework or crabby ol' teachers telling you what to do I'd sure like to try it," said Donovan as he stepped over a hollowed out log.

Once around it, Neji knelt and dug out a handful of dirt. Shiny onyx gems crawled about in his palm. As soon as the black dirt sifted through his fingers, the bulbous backs were exposed, and Neji popped one into his mouth.

"You get to go diggin' for honey ants, mate. That's for fact. The learnin' comes from a days find and the elders teach the rest."

"What about books?" he questioned.

"Don't need 'em. Why bother with a book when it's right in front of you, mate? Know what I mean? I got it all right here. Just like when the spirits became man.., I get to see it all for the first time. It's a bigger place that way," suggested Neji.

"You mean the world?" asked Donovan.

"If you want to limit it to that," he popped a couple more into his mouth and one crawled down his chin. "Sure you don't want some?" he offered.

"Nah," waved Donovan. "They'd probably just make me thirsty."

"Have it your way, mate.., and I'll have it mine," he hammered the rest with his fist and crunched them all at once.

"Yuk!" Donovan commented.

At once though, Neji motioned for him to be quiet as he placed his ear to the ground. Without a word, he grabbed his spear and ran through the trees until he made the clearing.

The sound grew like thunder as it rumbled closer and Neji ducked behind a rock.

Donovan crept up behind him with the Thorny Devil in hand.

"Shhh..," he motioned. "Roos.., maybe twenty of 'em."

A blinding path of springing marsupials exploded onto the grassy plain. Sighting the distance, Neji gave a swift thrust of his spear as it ripped through the evening air.

All Donovan could see was a young one in its path. "No.., not the joey!"

At the pitch of his voice the herd scrammed, but the spear plugged something.

Aggravated, Neji huffed an insult at him in Gagadjuan, before he went to retrieve the kill.

Bending down, he lifted the goanna to his waist. "If lizard is what you want. That's what you're gonna get!"

Donovan rolled his eyes and sank back into the grass. "How much further? Even that looks good to me now."

"Sure it does, but I'm goin' to teach you somethin' new before we get there," he said.

"Like what?" asked Donovan.

"Like how to fish" grinned Neji. "Just show some patience. It's what it's all about. Besides, we're getting closer."

Soon they were at a small stream that ran alongside the base of a mountain. It was wide enough that he stepped on several wide stones to cross it. Donovan was intrigued.

"What are we going to do? Catch them with our hands?" he asked.

"No mate," Neji stepped into the stream to stand on top of a rock. He held the spear at an angle just so and waited for a fish to swim within his reach. Then suddenly he stabbed at it and missed.

"Can I have a turn?" questioned Donovan. "I really want to put that thing to use!" he declared in his excitement.

So he splashed across the stream to another rock and balanced himself as he reached for the spear from Neji. He held it forcefully above his head and took a stab at a fish and missed. He shook his head and went about his stance again. He tried again, but to no avail, but he wasn't giving up so eaily. A few moments later another one was within his reach and he stabbed down quickly and raised the spear from the water with the fish on the blade.

"Whoo weee!" he yelled. "I am Miro, the great spear thrower! Fish can not flee from my swift hand!" he announced loudly with pride, as the sound echoed through the valley.

Neji too, joined in with an announcement. "Now this man wanderer doesn't have to go without, because he knows how to fish!!... Miro!! Miro!! Miro!!"

Donovan rapped into the chant, "Miro!" as he pumped his free fist into the air. "Miro!... Miro! Miro!"

It was a proud moment and his eyes glistened with elation of the moment. "You do know," he added, "this is probably the most important thing that I have ever done!"

Neji laughed some more. "It is a big thing to be had," he boasted. "Now it's my turn and we'll cook these dead fish up!"

Donovan boasted, "Yeah!" as he stepped onto the bank and let the fish land on the ground away from the shore. "How much further do we have to go? I'm ready to do this!"

"'Bout three more meters, mate," he laughed again as he motioned for him to be silent, while he took a successful stab at another fish and raised it from the water.

"Oh, yeah!" Donovan nodded with the accomplishment as Neji stomped out of the stream.

"This is the most fun I've ever had!" he added. "It's feels incredible becoming a man and a great spear warrior!"

"It's what we're all inclined to be," Neji agreed, as he gathered up both fish and motioned for Donovan to open his backpack.

Donovan unzipped it and thought it was cool how the fish flopped around inside. "Well at least I brought my backpack!" he added again with a laugh.

"It is always best to look on the bright side," agreed Neji. "Now we can head towards the caves," as he motioned for Donovan to fall in line. "They're this way."

"How can you be so sure?" Donovan was simply curious at the woodsmans insights.

"The sky is one way," Neji explained. "But if you look beyond the trees you can see it. Come on, mate, let's get on with it. We've got some skinnin' to do."

Donovan emerged with a dance in his stride at the challenges that now awaited him.
Chapter Fourteen

The pit was ready to be fired when they reached the cavern. The circle of stacked rock was filled with bones and ashes from a previous hunt. Where the red glow of evening had disappeared behind the shaded hologram, the mountain of stone was one dark recess. Donovan stared down at the pit and then back to Neji.

"Don't worry 'bout it," the fearless hunter said while fingering the ashes, with his feet cupped tight to the jagged rock. "It's from a couple days back. We can have it for the night."

Donovan shrugged reluctantly as he thought about this particular site being used by tribal people for hundreds of generations. People just like Neji. As he watched his friend pry at the neck of the goanna, the skin began to peel loose, and he walked away. It would take a lot longer than an afternoon for him to adapt to indigenous ways. So he pulled the fish out of his backpack by the back fins and dropped them onto the ground.

"How do I go about this?" he asked.

"Take this," answered Neji, as he tossed his knife over to Donovan and it landed in the dirt. "Just scrape against the opposite side of the scales until they come off."

"Okay," Donovan nodded and got busy at doing a mans job. "What about the heads?"

"We can leave 'em on. It doesn't really matter," he answered. "Once you get to the insides though, I'll show you how to clean them out."

Donovan agreed with a nod while he worked at the flesh of the fish, still curious about the inside of the cave and wanting to explore it afterwards.

"Come on," nodded Neji, whose arms were red with blood up to his elbows. "Let's leave these here for a minute to see what we can find."

"Are you sure they will be all right? What about other animals?" he asked.

Neji replied, "We won't be gone long, and we'll finish what we started."

Donovan agreed and followed his friend up the side of the mountain and into the opening of the cave.

Images outlined in red and yellow ocher covered the wall surrounding the opening of the cavern. Donovan studied them. Glaring at him from above was a winged creature poised downward with large round eyes.

"Who's the owl man?" he asked.

Neji vaguely turned toward him and felt that he was hindering his progress. The sun had since melted behind the escarpment and it would soon be too dark to see without the fire.

"Djawok," he replied and disappeared further into the black hole.

"D--, who?" Donovan scratched his head as he peered into the darkness.

"No," the answer echoed from the back of the cavern as Neji felt high against the right wall for the cut out. "Not an owl, a cuckoo..," his voice drew closer. "Djawok was a creator being who left his form on the rock. Keeps the Dreamtime alive," he said while emerging with a handful of odd shaped stones.

It all sounded strangely mythical to Donovan, so he pretended that it made sense for the sake of conversation, as he slapped at his face. A mosquito had left a rising welt.

"Hey.., do you know anything I can do to keep the bugs off?" he called out to his friend who was already outside again and starting a fire inside the pit.

With the evening setting in, as the fire ignited into the pit it illuminated the face of the plateau. To Donovan, it was as if a floodlight had been miraculously switched on, and now the inside of the cavern was more visible than before. So he walked further back to explore the opening.

The cool of the dugout enveloped him as the ceiling rose to a sharp crest. Covering every smooth surface was more of the bizarre artwork and at the base of his feet, even more peculiar findings, pieces of wood chiseled by hand formed implements for digging, as well as wooden spoons and bowls. And leading all the way into the corner were bones. Not just any bones, these were small, but too distinct to be that of an animal.

He eased in closer to distant the shadows. "Oh m-m-m-mummy!" he exclaimed as his chin dropped in astonishment, "a human skull"

The juices of charred lizard began to loft into the air. The smell brought saliva to Neji's tongue. Only a while longer and the sparse layers of muscle would be cooked through over the hot flames, but the sun baked Thorny Devil would make a good appetizer. There was only one problem. He needed something to scoop out the intestines. He knew just where to find it.

"Barbe's on," he snapped his fingers as he hustled into the entrance again. It didn't take long for his eyes to adjust to the dim glow of the cavern where he found his friend gasping over the find.

Without any qualms about it, he waltzed over and wiggled one of the finger tendons loose and pointed it up at Donovan. "Don't mind if I borrow this, do ya?"

Donovan was speechless.

The native tossed it back on the pile and laughed, "Got bones 'bout it, ah?"

"How.., how could you just do that?" he stuttered as Neji went about gathering up the utensils strewn about.

Neji looked to the pale face whose eyes were wide with fear and said, "As sure as I lay my head here tonight, my remains 'll return to the rocks one day. Must've been laid to rest there on purpose."

When Donovan listened to the voice of reason, he saw his companion differently. With the spiny lines of white paint that skillfully marked his body, and the blood still wet at his elbows, he wasn't so sure which would keep him from closing his eyes when the time came, the Aborigine dressed for rituals as mysterious as the odor lingering in the night air, or the dry bones coming to life in the corner.

Shifting his dark eyes away from his friend, Neji decided to do something to put him at tease again. He had had his fun. So he went to a moist crack in the wall and pulled out a thick glob of clay, rubbed it into one of the small wooden bowls, poured some water into it from his flask, and stirred. He moved close to Donovan and smoothed it over his irritated skin.

"That'll help," he said. "Just think of it as an ointment."

"Thanks," Donovan allowed himself to breathe again. "That one really threw me for a minute. We don't have to sleep with it though, do we?"

"Nah, mate," Neji concluded, getting the last bit of satisfaction from the tease. "You can always rough it out there.., with the real thing."

Donovan grew uncertain again.

"Ahhh," he laughed. "Don't mind me, mate. Watch this," he smiled as he shook out the contents of the bowl and chipped off some pieces of a white stone into it. He used another stone to pound it into fine powder, poured a little more water in and blended again.

"Looks like paint," Donovan perked up.

Neji nodded his head and went over to a wall that was covered in hand prints and placed his own tight against the rock. Then he drank the milky substance and blew it out around the uplifted hand. What remained was one more imprint upon time. It would last throughout the ages, just like those of the elders before him.

"Can I?" asked Donovan eagerly.

"No," said Neji sternly. "It's a sacred family ritual. No Balandas."

Donovan turned his attention to another wall, feeling embarrassed. "Is this another ancestor?" he inquired about another drawing of a bird.

"That's Djuway, a bowerbird. He keeps the initiation ceremonies. And over there..," he pointed to the outline of a sea eagle, "Marrawuti.., snatches away the spirit when we die."

He aimed for another, "And that croc is Ginga. He got the lumps on his back when he was blistered in a fire. Made the rock country."

Then he went back to wall with the handprints and motioned for Donovan to join him there.

"Thought it was against the rules, since I'm just a white boy," he said sarcastically.

"I forgot that we were in this together. Sorry for bein' a jerk. Come on and put your hand up," Neji urged.

Donovan plastered his hand against the wall next to Neji's and took the bowl in the other hand and filled his mouth with the ocher. Then he reared back and spat it out all around his hand. When he took it down, he swiped his mouth that was now covered with the chalk and then wiped it down his side. He was beginning to look more like Neji. He looked at the imprint and was proud of what he saw.

Neji said, "When others see it they will know there were two natives here. See how our hands look the same?"

"I can see it," grinned Donovan.

"Come on," Neji stepped outside of the cavern. "You said you were hungry. Tomorrow you will have to really get your hands dirty, if you want to learn to live off the land."

"Tomorrow is a new day, brother Neji. And I shall again demonstrate my fastidious warrior skills," replied Donovan.

"Indeed, Miro," Neji laughed speculatively, as they drew comfort around the campfire and made good of their catch. "Now have a taste of this," he handed Donovan a chunk of meat that he had just torn away from the belly of the lizard.

The goanna was bearable, but the Thorny Devil was off limits, and Donovan was all the merrier for it. He had just cleaned a thigh bone for Neji and started to give it to him for his collection, but decided that he should make his own. So he wedged it into his backpack instead, while he still worked at cleaning the fish.

"So what all do you keep in that sack of yours?" asked Neji.

"Just a little bit of this and that, but nothing of real value. I've got some change that won't buy a thing out here. I've got a deck of cards though," as he removed them from his backpack that were now slimy from the fish.

"And get a load of this," he added as he removed the Polaroid camera from the pack.

Neji reached out to take it and said, "I've seen these before, mate. Didn't know they made them any more."

Donovan shook his head. "I don't think they do. I found it before I left home and was just having some fun with it. Look at what I've got," he reached in and pulled out a photograph of the underside of Miss Lucia's skirt. There was a slight angle that showed her red and pink striped underwear with the slight curve of her behind.

"You're such a perv, mate," insinuated Neji. "Who is that?"

Donovan laughed. "She's our housekeeper back home. She's altogether lovely, don't you think? She's got a beautiful face to match. She doesn't know I have that. I snatched it back before I left home."

Neji laughed and pointed at the photograph, as he held it closer to the light of the fire. "Just when I thought I had you pegged as straight laced, you go and do that. Have you ever made out with a girl?"

Donovan didn't want to sound too naïve, so he talked as though his experiences were bigger than they were. "I've had a girlfriend or two. How about you? Have you ever made it with a girl?"

Neji grinned and pointed at the fire, while shaking his head, as he stirred up the ashes some more. "No, mate. I ain't ever had a Sheila. Not like that anyways. There's one I've had my eye on, and maybe when I get back she will be payin' some attention."

Donovan laughed as he admitted, "Me either, really. Only in my dreams."

They both chuckled. Then Donovan took the camera and snapped a picture of Neji. Then he posed with the spear, while Neji snapped a picture of him as well. When both had developed, they were surprised at how they looked and glad to have the keepsake.

"Do you want to play some cards?" asked Donovan.

"Maybe later," replied Neji. "I'm kinda beat from all the walkin' we've done today. I just want to lay back and rest my head for a while," he leaned back on his elbows and took a deep sigh.

Donovan too, leaned back with his backpack beneath his head and glanced up at the one thing that linked them, the night sky.

"What do you have to say about the stars?" Donovan asked, but the enthusiasm was long gone with the days journey. "More Mimi spirits?"

"Somethin' like that," sighed Neji, tiredly. "What's your opinion? I'm sure you've got one hiding somewhere."

Donovan thought about it for a moment. "I don't really get it, I suppose. I mean, why worship the stars instead of the one who created the stars?" he questioned, but not really caring if he got an answer.

"And who would that be?" questioned Neji curiously.

"God," he said, surprised that Neji didn't know that already.

"Uh huh The elders have a saying too. The land and sky is our cathedral. No building can contain the Mimis."

"No building can contain God, either," Donovan replied in earnest. "It's just a gathering place where people meet."

"Just like here," Neji replied.

"I suppose so," answered Donovan. "You've got a point there."

"Didn't think you were religious," said Neji flatly.

"Don't really think that I am. I was just thinking about something I had heard a long time ago. It's funny how words pick their moment and just spring up when you least expect it," he laughed.

"No harm done," replied Neji. "You can say what's on your mind if you want."

There was silence between them for a while. Then Neji got up and removed something from behind a boulder that was intended to be a surprise. He had found it there and was planning to keep it as part of his initiation, and he shook the dirt loose from the holes of the long hollow tube.

"It's a didjeridoo," he said as he began to breathe into it, producing a low mournful sound.

"Yeah," Donovan shrugged, "I've seen one of those before, but I've never heard one played. Is it hard?"

Neji shook his head as he began to play it. The mood struck Donovan as he got up and hopped around on the good foot, while trying to stay in rhythm. The sound was shrouded with breath that produced long and short bursts that resembled a base sound that reminded him of an elephant. Then Neji began to move around as well, while they danced around the campfire, slowly and rhythmically as he drug the edge of the hollow tube along the ground.

"Perhaps I can find something that sounds like a drum," clapped Donovan as shook his fist forward and moved along the perimeter of the ring of fire.

Neji stopped playing long enough to grab a couple of sticks and demonstrated to Donovan. "Like this..," he double-clicked them together and made a knocking sound.

So Donovan took them and began to tap the rhythm as they swaggered around like wounded animals, as Neji breathed the mournful sound, they both appeared to be heavy laden with sorrows that felt worthy of expression and sounding out.

Eventually, the air was joined by other mournful sounds, and not too distant howling.

Donovan stopped and wondered, "Dingoes?"

"Yeah, mate," replied Neji. "We'd better put the fire out and get some shut eye, before they come any closer."

So Neji tossed some of the sand onto the smoldering flames, and everything went black as they took their belongings into the cavern. Soon the howling had faded away and they were resting with their backs against the cool wall.

"Do you ever get scared out here all alone?" questioned Donovan. There was some obvious nervousness in his voice.

"Nah," waved Neji, as the white ocher on his hands glowed in the moonlight. "I'm as much a part of the bush as everything in it," he boasted. "I'm just used to it, I suppose. I might be afraid otherwise."

There was a long pause of intermittent quiet, as Donovan took some deep breaths and tried to relax.

"But I have one for you, mate," asked Neji. "If your God is so big, then why do you fear?"

Donovan had never really thought about it that way before, but the more he did, the more he began to realize that he shouldn't be so afraid of the unknown. If there were angels to protect him, they must have sent one in the form of Neji. So he replied, "You're right. I have nothing to fear," and he sank a little further into the rock and tried to go to sleep.

Then a low growling came from beside him and he jumped, but Neji only laughed.

Donovan scoffed, "Cut it out already," and turned in the opposite direction. The truth being, that neither had any certainty for what the night held. And as the sounds of the forest grew louder against the cold wavy floor, he would have given anything to have felt the warmth and security of his own bed again.
Chapter Fifteen

It was 10:30 am. The house maid clanked down the hallway with the second tray of hot cross buns and coffee. The first had been denied and left outside the bedroom door, but it was Madams wish that she try for brunch.

Placing the tray on the teakwood table beside the door, she started to knock again and hesitated. There was bickering followed by a short pause. Maybe she should come back in a little later when the air had cleared. She left the tray and walked away.

There was a fresh bouquet of lavender in a vase on the veranda. When Elizabeth heard the knock at the door earlier, she didn't want to seem ungrateful so she left the tray of food and took the flowers. The wrought iron table beyond the French doors seemed a more fitting place for them. That way, she didn't have to look at them and she didn't have to smell them. Nothing would sweeten the foul air that had enveloped the guest quarters they had locked themselves into.

"Of all the nerve! How dare that idiot simply leave word that he's going back up in the plane! Does he think I'm supposed to stand around be patient until something turns up? Although, why should he care? It's not his child's life at stake!" Allister pounded his hand with his fist as though looking for something more tangible to take his wrath out on.

Elizabeth, still in her bathrobe, searched high and low for her slippers. "Won't you stop pacing the floor already? I'm losing my mind over it! It's not my place to even try to justify your brothers emotional state when you can't even control your own. Maybe he didn't want you in the cockpit for a reason. Did you ever think of that?!"

"Well..," Allister's fist met a pillow and he ripped into it, dusting everything in white down. "Believe me, I can control my emotions! It's coming to grips with the unknown that I find impossible! This whole ordeal is maddening!"

Elizabeth swung open the glass doors and took a deep breath.

"Don't I have a right to be angry?!" he yelled, "or should I have to suffer that, too?"

"Ooh..," Elizabeth fumed, turning back to him while waving one of the beige silk slippers. "I could tell you a thing or two about suffering. How do you think it's been for me all of these years having to wear a pretty face while someone else harbors the love of my children?"

She grabbed her small box of jewelry off the low-boy and threw it on the floor. Rubies, diamonds, her wedding ring, all scattered onto the tile breezeway, mingling in with the feathers.

"Are these the things that hold the most value? Tell me if you can! Because they've been a poor substitute!" she hastened.

"Whatever do you mean?" Allister was appalled as he stomped past the jewels and onto the veranda.

She pursued him. "When I was growing up we didn't have much of anything, but Mother's love. And oddly so, it seemed to be enough," she walked past him and looked over the edge onto the sprawling grounds. Viola and Marcy were playing on some swings.

"I remember chasing through the dales in search of poppies and marveling at the huge stone palace on the hill," she said reflectively, but yet grudgingly beneath her breath. "Mother told me that I would live in a house like that one day.., worthy of a kings ransom and I believed her. So for years that became my obsession. I never knew it then, but the reason I believed in myself was because she believed in me. And I can't remember a time when she expected me to walk in her footsteps She gave the best of what she knew, and to this day, it's what I hold most dear. Afternoons like those, and the days my children were born."

She turned to face the man whose heart she believed had grown too callused to feel and added poignantly, "You know Allister, I've never told you this before, but I resented you the day you made me choose between being a mother and being your wife."

Attempting to somehow salvage the moment, but still lost in confusion, he caressed her satin shoulders and questioned, "Whatever do you mean, love? I've never given you an ultimatum about anything. I thought you wanted to be my partner. The staff may very well care for the children, but they know how much we love them," he tried reasoning it out.

"Know how much we love them? Look around, why don't you? Their most precious years are a blur..," her gaze fixed on her daughter. "Our children look up to us like we're some kind of disapproving idols, but not anything they'd like to be. I can see it in them. They don't really know us the way they should. Love has to be experienced, not just observed from afar. Tell me Allister, what do you remember most about your childhood?" she breathed accusingly.

"You'll have to forgive me," he snapped back, "I don't seem to recall." His hand went stiff and he headed for the bedroom with his arms flailing angrily.

"All of this is your way of blaming me for Donovan's disappearance.., like I've been an absent father. Is that it?" his voice began to crack as he sat down on the bed.

"Do you not think that I feel guilty enough?... Oh, Liz It probably is my fault, but I promise you this. I'll find my son.., and if he's still alive..," practically choking on the words, "I'll see to it that his childhood is one worth remembering."

However, there were no choice words to give him. Elizabeth sat down by the wrought iron table and watched the girls running barefoot in the thick sod grass. They looked so innocent and untouched.., Viola's skin as fair as lambs wool compared to Marcy's golden bronze. She wondered if they were really enjoying the warm summer sun, or were the smiles simply a cordial façade?

It was the most naked she had ever felt, as though stripped of everything that mattered. And for the first time in a long time she sat and wept.., completely unadorned.

The clapping sound of the propellers whirred steadily as Yancey altered the degree of the rotor, preparing to send the helicopter into a slow lift off. Head gear in tact and the old cockney secured beside him, he gave a thumbs up to the uniformed man on the airstrip.

Soon the small terminal became a square stepping stone in the symmetry of shapes that lined the vastly changing land below. Where they were going, the small airplane wouldn't do. They needed to be able to land anywhere in a moments notice, because they finally had something to go on.

They received the news when they had reached the airport. The authorities had information about a youth fitting Donovan's description.

When some concerned elderly tourists asked a ranger about a boys safe return from the falls at Jim Jim, he made the call. And his hunch had proved right. A missing persons report was filed directly.

An Aboriginal tracker from the Arnhem region was in the back seat, experienced in first aid and ready to do his part, whatever that might be, if not only for an additional pair of eyes. Scoping out every angle of what was in the open was easy, but trying to see through the thick mass of rainforest foliage was near impossible. Having hiked the trails of Kakadu many times, he knew how easily one could disappear beneath a tree branch, rock, or even the shadow of an embankment.

"Slim to none, mate," the tracker's voice muddled against he vibrations of the craft.

"Yeah, well.., I'm payin' you to be optimistic," Yancey corrected him.

Then he quietly commanded, "Hang tough, little Winthrop," as his thoughts shifted back to the controls. Still the uncertainty was mounting.

Since it had been two days already, he wondered how the stifled upbringing of a young Winthrop could withstand the harsh realities of the outback. As an Aussie for the past fifteen years, he knew all about the trunks of Boabab trees that contained small pockets of water for an emergency supply, along with the huge edible flowers and nuts that grew to be the size of emu eggs. With a little bit of knowledge and the proper equipment, anyone would have a fighting chance against the elements, but the last time he had actually seen Donovan was five years ago. Somehow, he couldn't shake the image of an overindulged white haired child falling prey to an unspoiled land.

Now that they had reached top altitude, the ride was much smoother as they trekked the skies, slicing through the more humus regions where patches of woodlands emerged. They were directly over Stuart Highway, heading due Southeast towards Katherine.

The butterflies in Preston's stomach had stopped plummeting long enough for his hand to steady the binoculars. Even though they wouldn't be anywhere near the park within the next half hour, he still hoped for a glimpse of the lad hitching his way back to Darwin. Of course, it was highly unlikely, especially since he would have reached a ranger station or out-post before anything else. But it was early yet, and if he took a different perspective on life, anything was possible.

With the city growing faint behind them, the land became barren in sections as an occasional town cropped up between long stretches of desert. If Yancey veered to the left about twenty kilometers or so, they were on top of scant vegetation and underlying rock again. Anything beyond that was mountainous range and patches of forest. So he tried to keep course between the two, but within close proximity of the highway.

A blur of static came zipping across the airwaves. Yancey signed off and relayed the message.

"They're sendin' in a search party with dogs. Bloody wallopers," he gruffed. "It's about time they did somethin' to earn their keep Somebody had better call the homestead and let 'em know there's hope."

"I'll get 'em on line," Preston nodded and he pressed a button on his cell phone. The old man gave out a sigh of relief that they weren't alone in their efforts, but he still felt the impending weight of it all.

"I simply don't know why I just didn't go ahead and take him to the Crocodile Farm" he offered.

"And I don't know why we do a lot of things friend, but I can tell you this. I bet the lad wishes he would've waited just the same," replied Yancey. He could see the worry in the old fellows eyes when he glanced over to him.

Memories that had been hidden for a long time began to crop up, despite the hard crust he had maintained for so many years, and he was glad that he had brought him along. Maybe it would help to put the situation behind him when they found his nephew. At least he was able to spare him from his brother for the time being. If he knew anything about Allister, he was probably still as unforgiving as ever.
Chapter Sixteen

The menagerie of womanhood stood protectively in the doorway as Elizabeth, Mary, Marcy and Viola waved good-bye to Allister as he left the stucco ranch. Dressed for safari, he passed the totaled off-road truck on his way to the extended lime-green one waiting in the driveway. He shook his head in disgust and could hardly believe he had entrusted the half-cocked drunkard with the lives of his children. Perhaps Elizabeth was right after all. It was his fault, and it seemed just like Yancey to take off without him.

He recalled from his childhood when his mother made Yancey let him tag along, only that once he was a good distance from the manor, his older brother and his friends would take off through the wooded valley to a secret clubhouse that he wasn't allowed to join, always trailing him behind. However, this time was different. There was no excuse for the brief phone call without including him in the search. And while Yancey soared the skies to his delight, he would have to take the low road to the remotest parts of the bush until he found his son.

The two Aboriginal rangers greeted Allister as he climbed into the loaded down jeep. They had enough bed rolls, food, and supplies to last at least three days and planned to hire more recruits once they made it to Park Headquarters. No one knew the outback better than the tribesmen and they thought it a good strategy to start at the north end and work their way down, since Yancey was already at the south end. With 7,720 square miles in between, they would have to cover a lot of ground to make up for the two day loss.

Something in the predawn hours ignited a spark in the dormant ashes of the rock pit just outside the cavern. Spirals of smoke lofted into the air like white billows of vapor rising from a steaming roast. Only four miles beyond the mountain of stone and thick barrier of forest laid spread an open field of grass. And beyond that, a dirt road potted with deep holes and rock protrusions.

The jeep came to a bouncing halt as the driver caught a glimpse of the white rings dissipating into the clouds above the monolith. He removed his hat with the dangling corks and smoothed a grimy hand across the oily patch of skin. He could get hair to grow out his ears, down his neck and across his back, but the oblong dome that housed his brain as slick as his tongue. And he liked it that way.

With a sharp turn of the wheel, the rear end sank into one of the three foot holes. Throwing the shaft into first, the tires spun rapidly, which sent a shower of dust all around the deranged man as he choked and cursed each breath. He shifted gears again, and this time grinded the clutch as the metal screeched into reverse.

With an instant jolt, he was racing backwards into the grassy field before halting once again. Then he drove on further until he met a clump of trees and brush. It would make a good hiding place.

The navigational map was the first thing that was wedged into his roll. Next would be his blade.

With the cunning of a death adder, he reached beneath the seat and clasped the jagged edge. Then he ran his index finger down the razor tip, which he pricked a module of blood. He licked it for luck and shoved the hat back on his head. When he looked into the rear view mirror, the corks fell into place. Then he flipped the reflection skyward so that the angle could be seen from the monolith.

Although he didn't trust them, he had dealt with Aborigines before. Even though these parts were off limits to outsiders, they were a reasonable people. Surely they would let him know if they had seen a white kid roaming their sacred grounds.

In the most dramatic hours of dreaming, the Dreamtime came alive A pack of snarling dingoes surrounded him while the Aborigine stood with one foot on his chest laughing with the spear pressed at his throat, all the while Mimi spirits danced in and out of consciousness and the bubbling sound must be too close to the creek got to run Viola can't swim

As daylight crept into the cavern, Donovan's legs spontaneously jerked when he heard footsteps. But how could that be?... Neji didn't wear shoes and each step was so.., heavy.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. They were puffy and stinging from the saltiness of his sandstone pillow. He twisted his aching back from side to side. The dry bones were still in the corner, the wooden bowls and cutting implements still scattered about.., but where was Neji?

The footsteps grew cautiously closer and his knees began to shake. As much as he wanted to be discovered, he didn't want it to be by a cannibal. What should he do? Call out? Hide? He considered his options. Then the opening was dark again as a man sized shadow blocked the recesses of his slumber.

"Who's there?" his sleepy voice wavered as he pulled the end of Neji's spear towards him.

The shadow crouched and the light broke free above his head.

Donovan scampered backwards, but stopped when his foot hit the pile of bones. As the image moved into the darkness, what became clear was more horrid than anything he had dreamt all night.

The man leaned forward for a closer look, his sulfuric grin stretched wide as he sneered, "Well, now..,, if it ain't the little pomme himself!" His eyes shifted to the pillage behind him. "I see you've met my friend Arnie," he paused to speak to the skull. "Arnie, wave hello to the pomme if you can"

Donovan pulled the spear inward, guarding the five feet distance between them.

A smaller shadow filled the opening. The tin of water was still boiling over the smoke stack as he said, "Hey mate. Get a look at what I found..," he cupped four small turtle eggs in his hands, anxious to show his friend the find.

"Wait.., Neji," Donovan called out, but it was too late. He had already entered the cavern and was surprised to see the visitor.

The swagman studied Donovan's expression and then turned to the Aborigine without waiting for introductions. Then he raised his right pants leg and lifted a coiled sheet of paper form his boot.

With a quick motion, Donovan jumped, mentally preparing to lunge forward with the spear if necessary.

The swagman looked at him and yawned, as he patted his hand over his mouth. "Wouldn't act in haste if I were you. Didn't get the poor chap beside you very far," he laughed again.

Donovan wasn't going to fall for the diversion. It was only a bluff. "What do you want?"

"No need to mince words.., we can get right to the point, since we're all men here," he coughed and nodded to Neji as though daring him to move. When he unrolled the big sheet of paper, he said, "Striking resemblance, ay?"

"Where'd you get that?" Donovan questioned defensively.

Neji didn't know what to think. He scratched his head at the image of the boy with a finger up his nose.

"Why, they're posted all over town.., even claims to be a reward," he replied smugly. "That's why I'm here. Your folks have hired me to bring you back."

"I don't believe you!" he yelled. "I'll find my own way back!"

"Sure you will, kid," he sneered again as he pulled back the side of his vest, revealing the handle of the knife, and yet obscuring the view from Neji.

Donovan took the threat well and realized that the man could kill them both if he didn't cooperate. He wanted to hesitate, but the words escaped his mouth. "How long will it take us to get back?"

"If we take the short cut, a day tops," but never looking him in the eye.

"I need to talk to my friend," he suggested.

"Take your time, kid..," the swagman looked on. "But the quicker we hit the trail, the sooner you'll see your family again."

Donovan walked with Neji outside and asked him how much further it was to his camp.

"About a six hour hike north-east of here," replied Neji.

"Tell me again how to compass the skies" Donovan suggested.

"It's easy...," Neji motioned as the whispering grew louder.

The swagman strained his ears to listen, but he didn't want to create a bad situation by not respecting the kids wishes in front of the Bunitji. He didn't want any suspicions raised. So to keep them from plotting too much, he tapped one heel and whistled to let them know he was getting impatient.

Neji peered over Donovan's shoulder and scratched his forehead. "You don't trust him, do you?"

Donovan was afraid to give too much away, as he wanted to protect his friend. "Do most swagmen look like that?"

"Pretty much.., but I don't think he's dinkum," answered Neji.

"What's that?" Donovan quickened his response.

"You know, the real thing. Looks more like a bushranger to me. Are you sure you want to go with him?" Neji tried appealing to him.

"No," he shook his head, 'but I think I have to," he said in a discouraged tone.

"Ah," Neji replied as though he understood perfectly. "If you're afraid, I bet we could take him—"

"Nah," sighed Donovan. "I'm sure he's on the up and up."

"Just in case he's not..," Neji clasped his hand tight around his spear. "I'd aim it between his shoulders when he's got his back turned."

"But what about the corroboree? What will the elders say?" Donovan asked, knowing what a special gesture it was on Neji's part, since it might cost him his manhood.

"Got plenty of spear heads here. I'll just get a new shaft from a grass tree. But if you have to bail.., you know the way."

"Yeah," Donovan nodded. "Thanks for everything. I really had hoped that we would have finished this together. I wanted to see your camp."

"I know, mate," he replied, but the swagman approached them and slapped Donovan hard on the back.

"You'll be seein' your pappy in no time," he mocked.

Donovan reluctantly gathered up his backpack and took the spear. Then he went with the man as Neji watched them descend into the heavy green underbrush.

As they scaled down the slope on the opposite side of the monolith that he and Neji had came up, the rock was slick where moisture seeped through the crevices. With his smooth soled shoes and his bandaged foot hindering their pace, the swagman had lost it long before they reached the bottom.

One hard shove from behind was all it took for Donovan to go tumbling down the rugged wall and landing in the center of a gigantic termite mound.

The semi-solid three foot gestation had only lost a clump of dirt, but everything around Donovan went white with the battering of thousands of larvatic wings. As they swarmed around his face and eyes in an aggravated frenzy, the swagman's corks bobbed up and down, as he cackled arrogantly like a crazed hyena.

"Ooh!" Donovan fumed. What he would like to do with those blasted corks if given the opportunity, he thought to himself. Despite the mask of mud, he was burning red with fury underneath.

"Do it again and you'll be sorry you ever sought me out!" He threatened. He wasn't about to give this brute the pleasure of submitting to the frail little sissy that he wanted him to be, as he eyed the spear that had landed within arms reach.

"This is no time to cop an attitude with me, kid," his accent Americanized on the spot. "Your first mistake was looking at me cross. And your second.., for opening your big mouth. Believe you me, I've wasted more than the likes of you for a whole lot less."

Donovan began to perspire through the mud and it started to ooze down his face. Every nerve in his body was twitching and he suddenly needed to release his bowels, but he stumbled to his feet instead and stepped outside of the battering cloud.

"Yeah well, my father won't pay you anything if I don't make it back alive," he instigated.

The man's face hardened and Donovan realized that he may have crossed the line again, but since he had already spoken, he decided to stand his ground.

In a dominating tower of intimidation, the man bent down and flipped up the tail of the spear and broke the shaft in two. He pushed Donovan to the ground again and tossed the narrow sticks beside him.

Donovan looked down at the broken heirloom and Neji's advice shot through him. "A quick stab from behind.., between the shoulders"

He picked up the two pieces, wedged them into his backpack and settled on one thought. If that's what it came down to, he would be the one walking out of the forest alive.
Chapter Seventeen

Sneaking undetected behind Donovan and the swagman, Neji moved only with their footsteps as he slipped in and out of the overgrowth. It just didn't make sense to him why this man had led his friend down the steepest side of the escarpment, especially if he knew his way around the bush. There wasn't a clear trail or road in that direction, much less a short cut. Eventually, it would lead to Katherine and a lot further than he would attempt on foot, so there had to be more to the situation than met the eye.

He had sensed danger when he first saw the swagman, but when he pushed Donovan down the slope, it only pointed to one thingrevenge. His friend had dealt with him before.

Whatever the reason, he would keep a lookout from a distance. With the mountain of stone behind him, he wasn't far in the rear. Then the clouds shifted and cast shade upon the area where he was standing. A shimmering patch of sunlight remained fixed above his head, which was odd since there were no billibongs in the valley. He decided to follow the beam of light as his friend continued on. It would take a while to reach the source, but it might hold the answer to the puzzle.

Leafy branches were piled high between a circle of trees, but the ends were still green. They had been broken that morning. There was something beneath the knitted jumble. It had the sheen of metal. As he pulled the limbs free, he noticed that the tan paint had scraped against the trees. The jeep was rammed tight.

Neji climbed inside and searched high and low. The glove compartment was empty, and under the seat was several crumpled beer cans, along with some chewing gum wrappers. The only tangible thing he had to go on was the rear view mirror that was tilted towards the monolith, as a clear indication of its location should the driver want to return.

It didn't make any sense to him why someone bent on receiving a reward would take such measures to hide. And he suddenly feared for the life of the Balanda he had brought this deep into the woods.

It was a tough call. The two of them were probably more than an hours range ahead of him by now. And in order to meet the traditional requirements, he would have to get to the third sacred site, unearth the ceremonial object and make it back to camp before dark. He drew only one conclusion. He decided to forget about the sacred burial site for now and get back to camp. The elders were wise in such matters and would know what to do.

The high parched grass scrubbed against Donovan's waist. It was like wading through a haystack, but the blades were much sharper, and microscopic amebas seemed to be harvesting into the pores of his skin. It even felt like some had inched their way into his bandages. His foot was itching so badly that each step was painful that he had to slow down his pace.

If he had learned anything from observing Neji, it was a better feel for the unpredictable landscape. Without even judging the skies, he could tell that they were headed in the wrong direction.

The swagman had been keeping an even stride in front of him, but he knew better than to try and run away. Even if he gave it all he had, he wouldn't get very far. His foot felt like it had been shot. So he tried placating the man long enough to scratch at his heel and hoped that the information might come in handy later on.

"I've been thinking," he rubbed the layer of socks, "We've got a long way to go and I don't even know your name."

The man bent around and growled. "What's it to ya?" he sarcastically demanded, as his roll dropped off his shoulder and onto the grass.

"Oh, no particular reason," he shrugged. All he needed was a response, not another close-up of those straggling whiskers and rotten teeth. "Just making conversation. That's all," he added.

"Listen, kid," the swagman leaned in close enough to peer into his optic nerves. "If I want to have a conversation, I'll do the talking. Just follow me and keep your big trap shut. Got it?!"

Donovan's blue eyes opened a little wider at the command, and he mockingly zipped his lips with his fingers.

The swagman picked up his twenty-pound assortment of rolled up canvas, and tossed it at the boy's feet.

"Carry that and speed it up," he gave the command.

Donovan shook his head with grief, and he strained so hard to get it over his left shoulder that he almost fell over sideways. He had to balance on his bad foot to swing his own backpack over his right shoulder, while mumbling complaints under his breath.

"What did you say?!" the man hissed, and got up so close in Donovan's face this time that their noses met.

"Just that...," he began to stutter. "II th..think we're going the wrong way."

"Wrong way from where?" the man tried to figure out the complex child. "If you knew your way back you wouldn't be here right now. Besides, we've got a detour to make before we take the road back to Kansas," his satire stretched from ear to ear.

"Kansas?" Donovan asked completely ignorant of the Americanized expression. "Don't you mean the Kimberly Region?"

The swagman whipped out his knife and held it to Donovan's throat, as the back roll and backpack slid to the ground again.

"I don't like being mocked," he pressed it tight against his throat, "and I never killed anyone that didn't have it comin."

A mosquito landed on the swagman's face and he whisked the blade away to slap at it, which left behind a stinging scrape to add to the others.

"Bloody mossies!" he wiped the remains from the palm of his hand onto Donovan's back. "Just remember, there's no big bus comin' to your rescue this time." He swung his head from side to side and kept on walking.

Grudgingly, Donovan hoisted the excess baggage again and continued the painstaking journey to no where. As he followed the head of flying corks, there was hatred in his young eyes. Now he knew why his parents told him never to talk to strangers. He would have to devise a plan to get away.

The arid landscape had been peaks and valleys for so long that when Preston closed his eyes the outline of stony impediments remained, along with the deep seated rings from the binoculars.

Wearily, he massaged his temples and laid the hard lenses to rest on his lap. The sky was already beginning to cast hues of red and purple and they hadn't turned up anything all day. The trips back to Darwin to refuel every few hours had left the three of them exhausted, but the feeling of disparity muzzled with the urge to beat the onset of night kept them pursuing the clouds and melting horizon. If Donovan was down there, the possibility of actually scoping him out would seem more miraculous now than ever. He could be anywhere and within the half hour they would have to turn back for the day.

As Preston blinked, he saw something flash in a valley. He rubbed his eyes again, wondering if it was just the glare of glass.

"Woe," he said. "Let's circle around again. I think I may have seen something," he grappled for the binoculars, pushing them into position as he adjusted the lenses.

Yancey yawned and turned the rotor. The old man had made him change direction so many times that he had almost lost track. "What does that make.., thirteen times now?"

"Oh," Preston's back stiffened, "thirteen, huh? Could be a bad sign..," he sounded concerned.

"Nah.., only if you're superstitious," Yancey replied and went ahead and coved in deep to narrow the margin.

"Got somethin'," the tracker broke in. "Looks like a cover up. A ute."

"Well, I'll be damned if it's not a signal. See that ledge on the mountain.., looks like a clear shot to me," the helicopter lifted back up above the tree line.

"What do you make of it, sir?" questioned Preston.

"I think it'll be a good place to bring her down for the night. Thirteen may be our lucky number, after all."
Chapter Eighteen

Sludging through the knee high swamp of lily pads, Donovan reached deep into the muddy layer that swelled between his toes.

"Keep feelin' around kid, you'll find 'em!" the swagman ordered as he howled at the struggle to keep his balance.

Despite his aching tendons and throbbing heel, there was one thing that felt good about the dilemma, which was the coolness of the mud. However, the thought of what might cling to his open sore beneath those murky shallows was enough to even snuff out that pleasantry.

The nameless face that he liked to think of as "Corky" stood on the bank, laughing like a lunatic while he pulled at the roots of the floating vines, as he tucked them into his pants pockets. Neji had told him they were edible, but whether or not the swagman knew it was his problem. He planned to steal them away for later.

Donovan was beginning to size him up as best he could, and since he was having to do all the work, it meant that one of them was lazy.., and possibly a heavy sleeper. If he planned it just right, those stems might give him the strength he needed to slip away in the middle of the night.

"What's the matter, lily white? Haven't you found any yet?" his voice began to slur as he sucked down the second bottle of black labeled whiskey.

"A couple," he answered hopefully.

"Then toss 'em here and get out!" the man demanded.

So Donovan pitched the mud oysters quickly at the bank, but the swagman reached down and caught them before they hit the dirt. With this, he reasoned that the mans reflexes hadn't slowed yet.

With the knife in hand, the swagman wedged it between the opening of the first and slurped out the insides. Then he cracked open the second and scooped it out, letting it wiggle on the tip of the blade as he shook his head.

"Too bad there's only enough for one of us," he went ahead and swallowed it whole.

Donovan expected as much. But as he started to pull himself upon the muddy bank, his knees buckled beneath him and he landed face down in the reeds. He remained there motionless.

The swagman grunted and walked over to him pushed the open bottle against his nostrils. With each inhalation, Donovan's head jerked, which was followed by a hard slap on his cheek.

"Ouch!" he wailed. Wearing this man down wasn't going to be as easy as he had thought.

The swagman laughed, "Next time you decide to play dead, kid, I'll make sure to plant you six feet under."

As soon as Donovan stumbled to his feet, the swagman shoved him to the ground again.

"Shhh.., it's supper time," the man warned with a motion and looked around.

Some straying bustards were nearby with a kangaroo and a joey scanting along behind them.

Out of all the choices, Donovan thought they would be having roasted bird again, but when he saw a pistol pointed at the smallest of the marsupials that was straggling for its mothers pouch, it was dejavu all over again.

"No!" he shouted. "Not the joey!"

Swiftly, the man kicked him in the ribs and fired. Upon impact the marsupial fell before another explosion ripped the air.

"I'm gonna do you a favor and let you have the bustard," as he walked right past the joey that was bloody and twitching on the ground, with its mother long gone.

"You mean you're going to leave it there?" Donovan protested out of disgust.

"It's a little heavy to be lugging around, don't you think?" as though taking satisfaction from the needless quandary.

Donovan looked away so that the swagman couldn't see the desperation on his face and the tears in his eyes, as he went to retrieve the kill.

With the head ranger's knowledge of the terrain and its boundaries, he knew where the majority of the clans lived. Still they did have to cut their way through the brush in some places, before finding a trail that would eventually lead to a campsite. The assistant ranger, who was also the nephew of the stocky commander, showed off his zeal for the man hunt by scouting ahead of them. He would case out each area to help navigate direction and had proved to be useful since the distances were so great.

For the past hour, they had traveled as far east as was accessible by truck, which meant hiking to the remote parts and then tracking all the way back to begin again. Most of the day had been wasted doing as much, but as long as the young stallion kept up his stamina, so would Allister. The more they fought against the harsh extremities, the more intense his search became to find his son.

They had happened upon several snakes and with night setting in the head ranger said it would be too dangerous to track after dark. He also said this would have to be their last stop before the sun rose again, but Allister planned to persuade them otherwise.

For the most part, the clans they had met seemed civil enough. At least Allister believed they wouldn't act aggressively to a stranger, especially a lost child. It was an unfounded faith in a people he didn't know, but it was all he had.

The assistant had made the crest to the top of a mountain and turned around with a boast of his discovery, as he rubbed his stomach and sniffed the air, "Mmmm.., Barramundi."

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself. We haven't exactly been invited," replied Allister, as the head ranger quickened his pace to catch up.

Allister took hold of a thick root and worked his way up as well, but by the time he had conquered gravity, the two men could no longer be seen. He knew that he would find them near the fishy source, but they were waiting for him just before the camp.

Loose shells were tossed to the side of an overweight Aboriginal woman dressed in a dirty orange tank top with a pink and yellow-striped skirt. A tamed dingo was stretched out on its belly beside her, gnawing on a bone as it watched the white ovals with a muzzled urge to nab them.

The blackened fish was popping in an iron skillet over hot coals where a small child toddled around naked with a stick in his hand, poking at the simmering rocks and slapping at the dirt. And an old man with white hair and a long wiry beard was relaxing on the well trodden grass with his arms folded behind his head.

As soon as the dog saw the men emerging from the woods, it stood to attention and began barking. The head ranger spoke out to the woman and she ran to greet them, as the dog went for the eggs.

The old man bolted up from his grassy mat and yelled for the dingo to scat, which it did, but not without slinking into the side of the mountain with the prize clamped between its teeth. The rangers laughed and an entire family came out of the opening where the mutt had taken refuge.

Expecting to hear Gagadjuan, Allister was surprised when the rangers began conversing in English, or rather Aussie slang. From the looks of these people and their primordial living, it was hard to imagine them being educated at all. As it turned out, they were all cousins and very glad to be reunited.

Until they had learned his reason for coming, everyone in the tribe watched Allister suspiciously. They seemed as awestruck by his appearance as he was with theirs.

Naked children with bloated bellies came abounding into the open campsite, excited by the visitors. And the toddler that had been slapping at the coals found Allister's fair skin more amusing.

Handing them an enlarged school picture of Donovan, he asked if anyone had seen him. With sympathy, everyone looked to each other. The tribesmen who had been out hunting that day hadn't witnessed anything unusual.

"If you do happen to see a child resembling him," he stressed, "there is a sizeable reward.., enough to take care of your families for years."

The word spread fast throughout the ring of faces who hadn't understood. The head ranger handed one of the elders a sheet of paper with park contacts on it.

Even though these people were without a lead for them to follow, they did give directions to another camp nearby, as well as offered food and a place to sleep for the night. Both rangers accepted so graciously that there was little Allister could do to change their minds.

They had entered a tunnel which led to an underground cavern with barely enough head room to stand at full height. With the flames of the fire licking the top of the clay ceiling, it was fast becoming so hot that Donovan was gasping for a fresh breath of air, while digging with the small hand pick into the hard wall.

The bustard was cooked through and the unseasoned juices dripped onto the coals, filling he smoky hole with the smell of burning flesh. As each stroke became more labored than the last, he couldn't refrain from dropping the pick to hold his stomach.

For a second, the swagman looked concerned, but it passed as soon as he tore off a hind quarter and tossed it at him.

Donovan dodged to keep the unwanted portion from searing his leg.

"Eat up," the swagman growled as he took a can of beans from the roll and peeled back the lid.

Donovan kicked it away from him. "You eat it," he said defiantly as he scooted further away.

The swagman probed his victim carefully, as though premeditating the best angle to strike. "Better watch it, kid. Makes no difference to me whether you're conscious or not. I'll get what I came for one way or the other. Something has to make up for this detour"

Hot release rose up Donovan's spine. His vulnerability was still too great from where he sat.

"Look, mister. If it's money you want, my father has plenty—more than you could ever mine out of this rat hole," he said.

The man stabbed his knife at the red dirt. "And what makes you think it's enough?... What did you ever do to become so valuable?"

"I know my father. He would give whatever it took," Donovan tried to keep a straight face and hoped that it were true.

"For some limp wristed little pomme with an attitude? You Brits beat all, thinkin' that just because you got a little more than the next guy, it makes you more human. You don't know nothin', especially when it comes to us Aussies Take Ned Kelly. Now that was a real man."

"I see your point," Donovan continued to dig without expression. "You remind me of him."

"What do you mean by that?" he snapped curiously.

"Well," Donovan pondered, hoping that his tutoring in history would come in handy. "He may have lived in the 1800's, but a bushranger all the same. Made out to be some kind of Robin Hood when all he really did was rob people blind, and took whole towns hostage at a time."

"He was a hero," the swagman said hastily.

"Yep," sighed Donovan. "I guess that's why he was hanged in his twenties And the way I see it, you're a little past your prime," he gripped the pick tight.

Before the madman even thought to respond, he flung the knife at Donovan's head, who ducked just in time as it stabbed the wall behind him.

Scrambling away on his hands and knees, he headed for the opening as the swagman leapt over the fire after him. Donovan stabbed the pick into his leg and kept on going. The man screeched in agony as he limped off after him. It was either run or die.

Unable to see his feet in front of him, the moon shimmering on the horizon of water was his only light and not enough to guide him, as the ground beneath him started to sink into the bottomless black hole. He struggled to the left again and tried to stay clear of the river bank, as briars grabbed at his legs and trees knocked him flat.

"Come 'ere you little brat, so I can kill you!" the swagman yelled as his footsteps were bleated out by the drumming of insects.

Donovan stood still as he heard movement through the marsh, holding tight to the pick and preparing to use it at any moment.

"You never really thought I'd let you get away! Did ya?!" the voice began to squeal in the opposite direction. Then he stopped as if to listen.

Donovan managed to pull himself up onto a tree limb, as he leaned toward the core of the tree. He held the pick tight against him and watched for movement below.

The swagman heard the sound of the limb shifting and wandered in his direction. Occasionally, the water splashed as he stepped alongside the rivers edge and he breathed heavily.

Donovan sat as still as he could and prepared to strike the top of the mans head if he came any closer. Then suddenly, and out of nowhere, a high pitched scream that defied rationality rocked the night air. It was the sound of splashing, terror, and the crunching of bones.

Donovan pressed hard against his ears to deafen the sound, as the crocodile twisted its victim to the bottom of the river bed.

With his legs gripped tight around the strong arm of refuge, he did the only thing he knew to free his mind from the reality of what was happening. As the crocodile continued to twist the mans mangled body against the bank and then back into the cesspool, he sang out above the mayhem with the acapella of the boy's choir

"Faith of our fathers living still In spite of dungeon, fire and sword.., Oh how our hearts beat high with joy.. When-e-er we hear that glorious word Faith of our father's holy faith We will be true to thee till death"
Chapter Nineteen

The bloodhounds sniffed the pillowcase that Donovan had used on the airplane. Since everything else had been laundered beforehand, it was the only thing the Winthrop's could provide for them to go on. But the dogs took to it eagerly as they tore through the woods and over rocky embankments in search of the missing scent.

"Hey chief, what do ya make of it?" a deputy yelled while holding a partially developed picture of the water rushing over the gorge.

The sheriff grabbed it. "Could be him..," as he wedged it in his clamp-board, flipping through the territorial charts and pages of data. "Report shows a camera on his person."

"Over here!" another man shouted from the other side of the plunge pool. "Got somethin'! Two sets of tracks!"

The sheriff gave an authoritative whistle and waved to the remaining nine, "Get on it!"

They followed the dogs.

The reflection of light hit squarely on the side of the plateau, and since there was nothing of any value in the jeep, it seemed a good place to start.

Zipping up the caution-orange vest, the tracker bent down to take a handful of ashes from the pit, "It's yesterdays roast all right."

As he wandered into the arched opening of the cavern, Preston bellowed, "Maybe they slept in here"

"Let's not go speculatin' about too much. Could be that the lad was nowhere around," drilled Yancey as he scoped out the valley.

"Yeah, mate," the tracker replied, "but it's sure more than we had a few minutes ago."

Yancey looked down the steep side of the monolith as Preston disappeared into the dark recess of stone. A narrow trail of broken branches meant that more than one person had traveled down the rigid slope. He followed it out further, as he carefully descended by holding onto shrub roots for leverage that were protruding from crevices where red clay had settled.

Midway down, he stopped to secure his footing on a rock that was shifting beneath him when he saw the termite pod. The top half of the mound had been crumpled away. With the slightest amount of dexterity, the fall could have been avoided, he thought while feeling the moist incline. Then the trail of broken branches narrowed even more so as they reached the base of the mountain and within several feet of the site. He inspected the mound again.

"Ahhh!" the old man screamed as he shot out of the opening of the cave, while frantically running circles around the tracker.

Although he tried, he couldn't get his words out clearly, "B-b-b-bo-dy"

The tracker didn't waste time figuring him out. He rushed inside the cavern and when he returned from the dark void was perfectly calm, but perplexed.

Yancey made the climb to the top again. "What'd you find?"

"A skeleton.., child-like, but not the boys. Dry bones. Been there a while," he sized up the scene.

"All right then," Yancey yelled back, "I'll radio the sheriff. Maybe this will get his bloody attention." Then he pointed at the trail, "That's your route. We'll go on ahead of you. Signal if you find anythin' else."

"Yep," he gave a quick nod and was off.

Preston had already cut a new path back to the helicopter.

The lime-green stems of the water-lilies kept Donovan pushing forward as the sun rose hot against his back. It wasn't enough nourishment for the strength he needed, but it would sustain him until he could unearth something more. At least there had been enough water trapped inside the shoots to wash them down, but the aftertaste was awful. He hadn't seen a billabong or natural spring all morning and with the rising temperatures, he hoped to find one, before something else found him.

Somewhere in the night he had lost his shoes, and the makeshift socks had gotten so laded down with mud that they had been shed too. The wound on his heel had caked dry so it didn't bother him as much when he took full strides. If he could only find a way to avoid the prickly vines that swam across the ground and pierced his raw feet.

A few times he had tried walking in the grass, but the insects on the reeds made him itch too much. And he felt safer being able to see what moved around him. He reasoned that if something did creep up he would be in trouble, but at least he would have a running chance.

His backpack was with the spear, and he had no intentions of going back for them. His only mission now was to find a sturdy walking stick and to keep heading east, and as far from the river bank as possible. Whatever remained back there would stay behind him. If only he could convince his mind of the same.

The night had passed with his eyes wide open, but the nightmare never ended. The fear of being hunted was his constant companion. With the hours of silence that had followed the madness, he wanted to believe that the swagman was gone, but he couldn't stop the delusions from coming. Images of the half-mangled predator seeking him out was as an apparition in his thoughts. And as much as he kept fighting against the loss of food and sleep, the enemy seemed to be winning the battle—whether dead or alive. So he held onto to the ax pick and he journeyed deeper into the bush.

The further he went the more tropical it became with the changing landscape. Leaves stretched wider on thick rubbery plants and weeping foliage filtered out the direct light from the shade of tall Paperbark trees. The ground turned soft with a mixture of sand and dark soil where long winding strands of lush green ferns swung coiled from branches. A big shell of stringy bark had fallen from the base of a trunk and he picked it up, comparing it with the vines that hung like trapeze ropes from the trees.

The air smelled fresher as he got to the base of the mountain. Among the few roots that were edible, Neji had recommended these in a pinch. Even though the shoots and nuts looked much better, he was careful to leave them alone, because Neji had also warned that they were poisonous before being soaked in water or cooked. So he shoved the root into his mouth and continued scraping at the dirt with the pick in hope of turning up some yams.

After a while, he was too exhausted to dig so he laid back in the leaves, and his eyes followed the vines to the top branches. In his minds eye the tree became a towering skeleton and the thick strangling vines were veins, twisting to the top sockets of branches where light pierced the openings, exposing the green bulbous eyes.., thousands of them.

"Hey, wait a minute," he stood up, shaded his view with his hand, and peered upward. "That could be fruit," he stuffed the rest into his pockets.

As he inspected the ground outside the perimeter of its branches, he happened upon one of the green balls. First he broke it open with the pick and then pushed the plum sized fruit into his mouth.

"Ummm," he smacked in pure delight, "figs."

As quickly as he swallowed, he foraged through the fallen leaves again to uncover more of what he would never reject again, grabbing them up as though priceless jewels for the taking. It was the best thing he had eaten in days and he filled his pants to overflowing.

In an instant though, the simple quiet was disrupted by a loud thrashing sound above the trees.

Immediately, Donovan ran for an opening as he fought to get out from beneath the mass of forest. When he made it to a clearing of tall grass, he jumped in excitement as he waved his arms yelling, "Down here Down here!"

It was no use. The helicopter was too far off and the whirring sound had slipped back into wooded solitude.

Crying in frustration, he headed for the fig trees. What he found there were small rodent-like marsupials scurrying back into the underbrush, as they snatched away his leftovers. And the realization that he had been sharing his food with rats hit him harder than missing the aircraft.

Thoughts of home flooded his mind.., his parents leaving him at the airport.., the swagman chasing him through the dark tunnel and getting eaten by the crocodile

Bitterness overtook him.

"If this is why you're called the Great Empty, I don't want any part of you!... Do you hear me?!" he screamed, kicking the earth that had just fed him. "I hate you!... You cursed land!"

Then he shook his fist at the airless blame, "Can you hear me Father?!... Damn you!"

It had taken them all morning, but four campsites later and they had actually happened upon one that didn't require cutting out a trail first. The path was well worn with tire tracks and at the end of the dusty road was a welcome committee that was bigger than any he had seen. From the look of things, it must have been several clans brought together. There were women and children everywhere as they paraded closer to the site.

"What do we have here—a bloody family reunion?" Allister said sarcastically. Out of the assortment of painted black faces, he didn't see one white boy.

"A corroboree," the younger scout turned and eagerly replied, before leaping over the side of the jeep to join the gathering.

"Don't tell me that you're related to them, too!" he said to the head ranger. Most of their time had been wasted getting re-acquainted with all of the wrong people.

"It's all next of kin out here. The blood runs thick as mossie's," he laughed jubilantly while pulling the emergency brake.

Cupping his face in his hands, Allister peeked wearily at the strange clan of people from the back seat, as the younger girls continued drawing the fine white lines and symmetrical designs on the elders. Even though it was unfamiliar, it was still the closest thing to indoor plumbing he had seen since leaving Park Headquarters.

A one room trailer with a slanted shed supported by a couple of metal post was the centerpiece of the camp. A rusted yellow truck was parked to the right of the shanty and was banged up so badly that the make was undetectable. On the other side was the fire stack, encircled by the women and children.

Food was being prepared, along with feather headdresses and ornamentation as though everyone was getting ready for a sacred celebration. The rangers had made themselves right at home among them, but Allister wasn't about to budge from the back seat. If they found out anything they would let him know. Besides, he didn't see any tribesmen around and he hoped his impatience would get them moving again.

All of the introductions had been made in Gagadjuan, and it wasn't until one of the heavyset women approached the jeep that it resumed back to English.

Taking out a cigarette and lighting it, Allister barely showed expression as he turned away to release the smoke.

"Pleased to meet you," he extended his free hand and stood up, noticing that her hair was orange on top.

She grinned and had a beautiful smile despite her odd shaped figure.

"You lost a son?" she eyed him speculatively.

"That's right," his tone remained dismal. "A twelve-year-old.., about this high.., with blonde hair. There's a reward if you see him."

At once she motioned to the others, speaking quickly in her native tongue. The distant sound of drumming began to beat with uneven rhythms.

Uncertain about the need for alarm, Allister became nervous and looked to the two rangers. "I didn't say anything to offend her. Really."

The woman fluttered her hand for him to be silent as she scratched her hip, which was covered in a dingy floral print. The sporadic drumming increased. She yelped again, but louder.

"What is this about?" Allister was getting irritated by all of the commotion and he flicked out the cigarette.

She waved her hand again, and three young boys walked out of the woods sporting the small round drums from their necks by leather strings. The tallest of the three ran towards the woman in charge, and when he stopped so did the order of things.

The elders began shaking their heads as if a taboo had been broken and the five young girls ran inside the trailer.

"Won't the Mimi's be angered? I thought I wasn't to come out 'til the ceremony?" the thin black warrior asked his mother as he stared at the white man.

"They will be pleased if you help this man," she took his chin firmly so that his eyes met her own.

"About the young Balanda. What did he look like?" she asked.

Anxiously, Allister reached into the back seat and took hold of the photograph. 'This will help," he pushed it into her hand.

With matted red hair that was combed upward and outward, the boy stood on his toes to see it. The woman nodded that he should tell the man what he knew.

"Are you Donovan's father?" he questioned.

"Oh, dear merciful heavens," he gasped as tears filled his eyes. "Did you say Donovan?"

"Yes," Neji watched him curiously. "He said that you left him. Why do you want him back?"

"I only left him with his guardian at the airport. I I would never leave my son without security" he spat hastily.

"Security to you is different to him," Neji replied as he watched the man wipe his tears.

"Never mind that," he said. "Where is he?"

"The swagman came to take him home for the reward. He said that you hired him" the boy responded.

"What man? Where?" Allister snapped desperately.

So Neji told him all about his journey with his white friend and how the swagman had pushed him down the embankment at the sacred site.

As Allister paced the dirt, the rangers mapped out each detail to the exact location where Neji had seen Donovan last.

"I wouldn't have left him, but he made me," he said. "I gave him my spear. It was for the corroboree. The elders went to find him. Will you bring it back to me?"

"Yeah, lad. Anything you want," he reached deep into his pocket and began placing dollar bills into the Aborigines hand.
Chapter Twenty

It had taken three hours to make it back to Park Headquarters, and the first thing Allister did was call the ranch while the rangers radioed for back up.

"Have you heard from anyone?" he asked hurriedly, as Elizabeth grabbed the phone from Mary.

"Allister?" she questioned as though making sure she was hearing his nervous voice correctly.

"Yes, love. It's me. Has anyone called?" he asked again.

"No..," she sounded puzzled. "You're the first person that's called since you left yesterday. I must have called you a dozen times. Why didn't you answer?"

"I must've been in some areas where I didn't have a signal," he replied.

"Listen.., I think we have something. An Aborigine said that he befriended Donovan somewhere between Jim Jim Falls and Nourlangie Rock."

"What? You've found my baby!..." exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Not yet, but we're going to. The Aborigine spent a couple of days with him until a bushman showed up. He had a poster of him, Liz. And I suspect that he'll be looking for a reward. In the meantime, we're gathering more men to retrace their steps"

"What about Yancey? Can't he spot them faster?" she questioned.

"I'm about to call him now and I'm praying that he can," he answered and they said their good-byes.

One of the men handed Allister a map and circled a broad region of the park in red. "Could be anywhere within this range. If they started from here," he pointed to some uplands, "they're probably still on foot. It concerns me though. They should've gone this way to make it to the campgrounds. So they could have gone in either of these directions" he continued to point out the terrain.

Though they had been circling within a two mile radius, the caution-orange vest was an easy target. And when the tracker began flagging for them, Yancey brought the helicopter down.

When he cut the engine and exited the craft to have a look, the tracker raised the head of the dead joey.

"Enough meat for a whole family. A Bunitji wouldn't have left it," he wiped his hands in the grass.

"And over here," he walked a little further, "another trail of blood, but not from the first kill. Looks like a bird, probably a hawk or a bustard"

A streak of static came across the airwaves. Preston took the radio receiver and held it out the door. "Sir," he yelled. "It's your brother!"

"Follow it on through," he told the tracker, "I'll let 'em know where to find us."

The evening had soon cast its shadow upon the forest again, and Donovan wanted to get beyond the trees so that he could see where the big red ball in the sky was leading him. Everything seemed ghostly as the outer stratum glowed behind the monoliths, casting them a brilliant orange that left him feeling like the only person on a lost planet. But as soon as the woods were behind him, the sky opened up again, and it was as if a smoke screen had been lifted.

In front of him was a wide open meadow of green grass and wildflowers. The terrain seemed to follow the same pattern regardless of the direction he took. The air was becoming vibrant again with the echoes of the nocturnal.

When he searched his pockets he found them to be completely void of food. The last fig had been consumed an hour ago, and his stomach was aching from the overabundance. Something solid was needed to make it through another night.

The plain was darted with stone giants that limited his view. As far as he could see there was no sign of dinner. Then he rubbed his eyes. They must have been playing tricks on him, because one of the rocks got up and strutted away.

Donovan crept in closer. It was clearly an emu that had headed for a watering hole, leaving a mound of dirt behind. And upon examining it further, he saw that it wasn't a dirt mound at all, rather a large speckled egg. Where was Neji when he needed him? And how could he slip in and out before the oversized bird spotted him?

He decided to go for it, running as fast as he could towards the large oval. However, as he was about to snatch it, the crazed head of feathers extended a sharp beak in his direction and charged.

Since he had heard about them stomping a person to death, he fled in the opposite direction and up an embankment, screaming as he went. The bird was on his heels. He had to climb a tree to escape its wrath, leaving the egg on the ground.

"Nice birdie..," he said as it strutted back and forth below. Half an hour later and it had rolled the unhatched young back to its nest.

Donovan was relieved and he started to climb down when a serpent headed lizard whipped a blue tongue at him from the side of the trunk. Falling backwards into the hard soil, his head landed against a rock. Sleep wouldn't wait until nightfall.

The sinking sun reflecting from the surface of the waters lit a wide path to unknown horizons. The old birch tree, twisted among reeds in one of the murkiest parts of the river, turned a dead limb outward towards the darkening sky. A finger of the branch held suspended the dry brown hat, where the corks dangled lifelessly in the stream of flickering light.

The tracker stopped waving as the helicopter evenly descended past the mountainous wall. It was a tight landing in a patchy area of tall reeds where jagged rocks abounded, and Yancey steadied the aircraft as the ground shifted beneath them.

The tracker ran to the door and pointed knowingly at the entrance to the underground cavern.

As the rotor stopped turning, Yancey removed the mouthpiece he had just spoken into. Preston started to climb down from the cockpit.

"Sit tight," Yancey warned. "Whatever's down there might not be too pretty."

As he grabbed his flashlight, he told the tracker, "We could see the jeeps comin' around the bend, and the Sheriff's rescue team isn't far in the rear"

The tracker nodded and the two of them disappeared into the tunnel.

It was obviously foul play. Part of the bustard was still on the roast, blackened to a crisp and the round clay room was filled with smoke. The red backpack was lying to the side, along with the broken spear, and the knife was stabbed into the wall.

"Whatever happened.., they sure got out in a hurry," remarked Yancey.

"Think it'd be all right to open it?" the tracker poked at the red canvas with a stick.

"No. Better leave it for the authorities. Let's check around some more."

As he turned to walk out, there stood Preston.

"I thought I told you to stay put, "Yancey commanded.

"I feel so useless out there. Please allow me to tag along, sir."

"All right then," he agreed, "but you have to stick close. There's crocs along those banks and who knows what else."

"Yes. Indeed I will, sir" he replied.

Just then the other jeeps had arrived and out stepped Allister. He had already seen the hat dangling above the water and he pushed his way past the three of them, as he headed straight down the tunnel.

The rangers ran in behind him, while the tracker shined the flashlight into the water. The remains of the body were twisted beneath the underlying branches. The clothing had washed down stream.

Preston felt his way to a rock and sat down. His hands were shaking beyond control.

Yancey took a bottle from the helicopter and handed it to him, "Drink it all. Looks like it's gonna be a rough night."

Within minutes, the sheriff's patrol had roped off the area, and the swagman's body had been fished out of the water, while deputies were on foot with the dogs.

As Allister came out of the cavern, distraught with grief, the hounds started yelping. Everyone ran to see what had been treed.

"A pair of loafers," one of them shouted from deep in the woods. "Must be the kids!" he exclaimed.

Allister ran through the woods until he reached the ranger and the shoes. He picked them up and clenched them tight to his chest. "Good God, there's still hope, after all. He escaped the river," he swallowed deep with humble tears swelling in his eyes.
Chapter Twenty One

The chanting rose up and down.., the faint sound of clapping.., and the drums Why did they have to play the drums so loud? His head throbbed against the stone.

When he opened his eyes everything was black, but the sky was still orange through a patch of trees on the other side of the mountain. From the valley, puffs of smoke lofted towards the full moon.

Donovan felt the same stickiness on his face that had streamed from his foot three nights before. His forehead was bleeding. But this time he didn't have anything to wrap it with. So he applied pressure with his palm, without even knowing if it would make a difference.

He tried to stand up and had to sit back down as he ran his free hand through his hair some more. There was a knot from where his head had met the rock, and he wondered just how long he had been out.

If only he had known that he was so close to civilization beforehand.., or was he? He had read about the tribes from the Kimberly region on the airplane and how they were into body scarification and dark practices. Which way had he gone? And how could he be sure these people weren't like them?

He stood up again and this time his feet remained planted. The sudden rush of blood to his head made him off balance at first. He would have to feel his way down the mountain to get close enough to see just what was going on.

As the thorny vines and branches cut his feet, he managed to grind his teeth instead of crying out. It was even worse when he clutched the sharp outgrowths with his toes, as he wobbled over the looser stones at the bottom of the hill.

He hadn't been as high up as he thought initially, but now that he was at the bottom he had to duck and stay quiet, until he felt these people out.

The dust lifted high above their ankles, as the tribesmen danced around the campfire. Every movement was precise and skillfully portrayed to entice both animals and spirits. When the drumming stopped the men sat down. Then three young boys entered the circle. Their black skin was painted and their heads were adorned with feathers. A low hum escalated into mourning as the boys began to move slowly and rhythmically to the sound of the didjeridoo and the beat of the drums.

Donovan crouched closer while trying to get a good look at their faces. Perhaps one of them was his friend. But before he got the chance to find out, something began snarling at him from behind. Nervously, he turned to find a dingo ready to take a bite out of him.

Shoo! Go away..," he whispered, afraid to move.

The playing stopped. The sacred ceremony had been disrupted. The dog growled more fiercely with a bark and the tribesmen went for their spears.

"No.., wait!" Donovan stood to attention. "I meant no harm. I just smelled your campfire!"

One of the boys ran forward and removed his headdress. "Is it you, mate?"

"Neji," sighed Donovan and the dog retreated. "I thought I was a goner."

Neji was glad to see his friend and quickly took him by the hand and pulled him into the open. The tribesmen let down their guard.

"This is the one I told you about," he introduced him to the others.

Curiously, Neji's father walked over and inspected his bleeding head. "Come," he said, "and let's take care of that.

The master of ceremonies turned to the row of elders with his voice heightened. "Begin the corroboree!" he raised his spear skyward.

As soon as the chanting picked up again, the tribesmen took to the ring and danced, while Neji and his father assisted Donovan.

"Your father was here today looking for you," said Neji as he patted the wound with a cloth.

"You must be kidding. My father is in Melbourne," he responded.

"No," he shook his head. "He was here. He gave me this," he removed the wad of money from the leather strap that bound his thong.

Donovan chuckled. "Yep. It was my father all right. Money buys a lot where we're from."

Neji placed it in his hand and closed the fist. "You can have it. I don't need it."

His father cut in, "I'll take you to the ranger's station tomorrow. But tonight, you must join our celebration."

"Thank you," Donovan smiled. "I am very grateful," he added. If his own family disowned him after this, maybe Neji's would take him in, he thought to himself.

Suddenly, the motion stopped as a teenage girl surrounded by women emerged from the trailer. Her arms were filled with clothes, cooking utensils and a book. She flung them all into the fire as the others watched and the beating of drums began to sound again as she silhouetted gracefully before the elders.

"Why did she do that?" Donovan whispered to Neji.

"It's very sacred..," he replied. "She has burned all of her material possessions in honor of the land and our great ancestors who formed it with the spirits."

The strong Aborigine placed his arm around his son, proud of the wisdom that had been revealed through such young eyes.

Donovan walked over to the fire and tossed the wad of money in it. He looked back at the father and son who seemed so close, thinking that he would give it all up too.., just to have that.
Chapter Twenty Two

The white coals were crackling in the center of the fire stack as the children slept placated on woven reed mats. Morning had yet to shed its warmth upon the damp cover that Donovan twitched his nose beneath, as he slapped at first light. The gnats found another warm body.

He had gone to sleep before the elders had retired from the evenings ritual. And though the chants of voices had echoed in and out of perception for hours, there was total quiet and stillness in his comatose state. It was only three hours later that the sputtering of an engine penetrated his thoughts Four wheeling did make for a nice dream and in his minds eye, he had driven across continents and to the edge of the world Then a beam of blinding white light startled his eyelids and he rolled over. He imagined that it was the light at the end of the darkness that the Minister had talked about.

He was finally going home.., to a place in the third heavens

A loud knock brought him back to earth again.., and then the sound of the trailer door swung open with a creek The muddle of voices only made him dream deeper thoughts.

"I don't mean to trouble you so early," the voice said, "but I've got fifty or more men searching your territory this very hour and I want you to know that the ante has been doubled for any of your tribesmen if they find my son."

"You owe us nothing," the burly man said. "If you can make peace with your son. It will have been worth it."

"Still.., I'm a man of my word. See here," he held out the spear in two pieces. "I promised your son that I would return this if I found it. Here it is. I hope he can mend it."

"I believe he can" he chuckled, "but you'd better tell him yourself," he pointed to the group of children sleeping on the ground around the fire stack.

Allister was perplexed, but he walked over to the woven beds and tried to separate the Aborigines features from the others. All of them were dark impressions spaced haplessly on the ground, but he saw the outline of matted hair. It looked as though it had been blown in as many directions as the changing winds. This had to be the one. He nudged him.

A familiar voice rang true to the child's ears. He smacked his lips and changed sides again. "No school today, Father..," he yawned.

At once, Allister raised the boy by the shoulders and yelled, "Light! Someone get me a bloody flash light so I can see!"

The spirited young ranger jumped down from the jeep and rushed over with the flashlight, shining it right into the boys face.

"Donovan, wake up," he hastened while wiggling his chin.

"Today is Sunday," he smacked again, "there's no school today"

"Come on, son. Talk to me," he tapped his cheeks.

Donovan opened his eyes and stared into the face of his Father, still mesmerized and yet aware of where he was. He looked down at his hands and feet that were covered with ashes and dirt. His father had always been so strict about appearances.

"I kind of messed things up..," he answered and somewhat afraid of the reaction to be had.

"Don't worry about it, son," Allister answered as he pulled his son close to his chest and sobbed tears of joy. "If it's anyone who's made a mess of things here lately, it's me."

Neji and the other children were instantly awakened by the disquiet, and the rangers began to dance around on the spot as the big-bellied elder stepped out of the trailer.

Neji ran to his father in his excitement, but Allister wasn't about to let go of the life he had found at last.

The sound of thunder rose from beyond the mountain tops and hovered above them with a loud clap. Allister waved to his brother as he clutched his son. Then the helicopter landed in the clearing.

Neji's father said, "Another corroboree is in order!"

Yancey climbed down from the craft and yelled, "Yeah, but this time it's at my place!..."

No one gave an argument.
Chapter Twenty Three

Before the convoy of trucks filled with tribesmen could turn into the driveway, Elizabeth was running alongside the jeep that held her son. As soon as she was reunited with him, she never stopped kissing his dirty brown cheeks.

Viola even ran out to greet Donovan while Marcy stood in the doorway with her mother. Once she saw him, she was shocked but put her arms around him anyway and began sobbing loudly.

Preston looked as disheveled as the rest of them, but there was a steed to his step. The parody of it all was amazing to him. The lad had come back as an Aboriginal warrior.

An hour later, the plush backyard was lined with two long tables of food and beer, not to mention the festive mood of the party-goers. And for the first time, Neji saw his friend return to the lifestyle that suited him best as Donovan made his grand re-entrance.

He had showered, been bandaged, and was changed into a pair of white slacks and matching shirt, which were typical for playing cricket. And the day felt as fresh as he looked.

Walking over to him, Neji handed him the spear. He had mended it back together with some vine on the trip over. "Keep this," he said. "It was you that carried it into manhood."

Donovan remembered all too well how his friend had given up his sacred heirloom for his protection.

"Thanks, but it belongs to the Bunitji's. I didn't do anything. You showed me the way and that's how I made it," he replied.

Neji placed his hand on Donovan's shoulder. "We made it into manhood together," he smiled. "That makes us one in the same. Brother's remember?"

Donovan graciously accepted the spear and took his friend over to the assortment of wooden bats for the game.

"I bet one of these would come in handy if you ever get bored out there.., in the great empty," he smiled.

"Yeah, mate," Neji accepted. "We all got to take time for some fun now and then. But to tell you the truth, it's not so empty out there."

"Yeah, I know," Donovan smiled with a full heart.

"Batter up," yelled Yancey.

All of the men were divided into teams and arranged into position.

Elizabeth stood on the sidelines and cheered for Donovan, hardly removing her eyes from his cherished blonde head.

Viola pushed doll carriages with Marcy on the patio, glad that her brother had outsmarted the crocodiles.

All the while Preston reclined under an umbrella covered chase lounge, sipping iced tea and thinking what a strange turn of events had made them a family again. He watched the multicultural game of rugged masculinity as he reflected over the past.

In the thirty long years that he had served the Winthrop's, he couldn't remember seeing them so happy just being together. And to think, he had played no small part in it.

With a lazy smile he mumbled, "I might be an old cockney, but I still gots me wits about me."

Then leaning back further, he pulled the gray cap over his eyes and sighed, "Even if it does require a little snooze now and then."
Chapter Twenty Four

It was as busy as it had been five days before, but the Darwin International Airport seemed as good a place as any to say good-bye.

"Come 'ere little brother," Yancey gruffed, as he pulled Allister into a bear hug. It had been years since the two had actually embraced, but the simple sincerity of the gesture seemed to settle a lot of things that time hadn't managed to heal.

"Can't say that we're going to be back any time soon, but we will keep in touch. Won't we?" Allister remarked on the sly.

Yancey raised his furrowed brow as he teased, "I'll have to ponder that one," waving his hand in a deep laugh. "Nah, you can trust me. I'm an honest Joe even if my last name is Winthrop. I'll make a good first for ya," he nudged him in the shoulder.

"All right then," Allister smiled, as he rubbed the bruise.

Everyone else exchanged their parting words as the flight was announced overhead, anxious to resume life back to normal again.

The land looked a lot different leaving than coming in. It wasn't just a patch of coastal scenery that disappeared beneath him. There were mountains of rock with water rushing off the cliffs, wild green plains with kangaroos running free, and dark caverns where the soul got locked away somewhere in the wee hours of the Dreamtime.

It was life at its most primitive, and yet so painful that it left an unforgettable impression upon the solid places of his heart. He wasn't leaving behind just another world, but a way of life, complete in its natural form, and yet contained by no man. And even though the wounds he had suffered were inflicted deep, Donovan knew that he was somehow better for having lived it.

As he leaned across the belly that had covered his arm rest just days before, he realized that the old man had lost some weight. He looked up at him with a perspective grin, and then pressed his nose against the glass to catch one last glimpse of the land that was fading from view.

"We've both changed this time around," commented Preston.

Donovan remained fixed on what was below and held firm to what was inside.

"A well polished coin for your thoughts," the guardian smiled, glad to have the troublesome lad at his side once again.

"Sorry, old fellow," he replied with all sincerity, "I'm afraid they're not for sale." There was quiet satisfaction.
Chapter Twenty Five

With a swirl of his pen the contract was signed. Now all Dillinger had to do was to come by and pick up the papers. Allister placed the pewter pen back into the marbled holder. It was one of too many things that had belonged to his father, including the burgundy leather chair that hunched his shoulders. He looked around the library at the thousands of books and inanimate objects. It seemed ironic the manner of things that fathers left behind to be remembered by.

He reached for the extravagant paperweight that had sealed the loose pages to the desk, a gold vintage coin encased in glass. Then he turned it to catch the light coming through the octagonal window, and said to himself, "What shall it profit a man.., and what shall he give in exchange?"

Meanwhile, the mayhem in Donovan's bedroom was somewhat chaotic. He was feeling much the rebellious sort, with his hair wet and in a disheveled upward rant, as he jerked his body about the room while dancing to a punk rock band. There was a knock at the door, but he didn't hear it and kept on dancing. Miss Lucia opened the door and was amused to see him carrying on in such a fashion, although she was used to it. His tee-shirt was drenched in sweat and he looked at her with a grin and motioned for her to join in.

She walked over somberly and then began to dance around with him. He kept up the pace as though he was used to it, glad that she was joining him, but not the least bit surprised. Eventually though, she danced her way towards the stereo and turned the sound down before she stopped.

"What'd you do that for?" he protested.

"Your father would like to see you in his study," she insisted with a smile.

"What for?" he asked, as though bothered by the request.

"I don't know, but suppose you'll just have to find out for yourself," she added and walked back towards the door.

"As long as you'll walk with me there," he grinned, "so I don't forget the way." He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt and went along beside her, with his head reaching the top of her shoulders. Then he placed his arm around her waist as they left the room. She started to pull away, but decided to let him have his fun.

"You know I'm a man now," he said on the sly. "And I'll soon be taller than you."

She glanced down to him and smiled, "Seems you've still got a lot of growing up to do. In the meanwhile, I'll take it as a compliment that you are so smitten with me."

He arched his eyebrows at her with a grin as they continued down the hallway, and purposely slipped his hand from her waist and onto her backside. She stopped at once, pushed his hand away, and pointed her finger in his face.

"Let's not get carried away now. I still haven't forgiven you yet," she reprimanded. "By the way, whatever happened to that picture? It seemed to have disappeared as soon as you gave it to me?"

"I don't know what you mean?" he lied. "Maybe it will pop up when you least expect it."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she hissed at him again.

However, it didn't seem to put a damper on his spirits. "There are other ways that I can woo you," he added with a confident grin again. "I'll not give up until I have you for my own."

"Oh bother," she huffed in an exasperating way when they met the entrance to the library. Then she knocked twice, opened the door, and announced him in. Then she slipped away with a wink to him and went about her duties.

Donovan's expression was filled with intrigue and pride.

Allister waved to his son and motioned for him to have a seat on a leather sofa in front of the window.

"Come on in, my boy," he said.

"What's up, Father?" he asked, and assumed he might be in trouble.

Allister returned the paperweight to its resting place on top of the contract and suggested calmly. "I thought we would simply go for a stroll around the grounds. Care to go riding?"

"Sure," Donovan shrugged his shoulders. "We haven't been on the horses in a while."

His father seemed amused by the response, but for an unknown reason. Then he changed the subject and asked. "How would you feel about taking an actual vacation somewhere together sometime soon? We haven't actually done that in a while. We could do something with a sense of adventure for a change."

Donovan's interest was peaked. "That sounds awesome, but where would we go?" he asked.

"Oh, we've plenty of time to decide that. Why, we could go climb the great mountain Machu Picchu for an Inca trail experience, or we could take a trip on the Orient Express. The possibilities are endless really. I'd say let's put our heads together and decide," he added.

Donovan looked curious, as if there was more to the situation. "It sounds great, but why the change all of a sudden? What are we doing besides?" he asked.

Allister gave a confident smile when he said, "We're just going to take some time to enjoy life for a while. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Oh no," he answered. "But do we have to take Mother and Viola with us?"

"That's yet to be determined," he replied. "We can't leave them out of everything, but we'll include them when the time is right."

"Sounds perfectly awesome. Can't wait," Donovan snapped his fingers as if there was rhythm in the air.

Then Allister walked over and opened a tall cabinet door that was attached to some book shelves and removed two old leather bomber jackets with colorful air patches on them.

"Whoa," Donovan jumped up and went to inspect them. "These are so cool. Where'd you get them?"

Allister smiled, "Believe it or not, these belonged to my father and I. We wore them when we would go flying together."

"But Dad," Donovan replied wearily. "You don't know how to fly a plane," there was nervousness in his tone.

"Well, perhaps we'll put them to another use. I've got a surprise in the garage. Come along and let's see" he pulled his jacket on, and nodded for Donovan to do the same.

A few minutes later and they were in the six stall garage, with an assortment of cars and a boat. However, Allister walked around a corner, where some boxes were stacked high and what met Donovan's wide expression was a classic vintage chocolate brown and tan Goulding LS 29 motorcycle with a sidecar attached.

He shook his head in disbelief. "You mean we're going to ride this?"

"Well it would be a lot more fun than standing around and staring at it, don't you think?" his father laughed.

"But do you actually know how to ride it?" questioned Donovan, as he was already getting into the sidecar.

Allister handed Donovan a pair of goggles, and he strapped on a pair as well, and then took a black helmet from a shelf and gave it to him to put on.

"I'd say today is as good a day as any to learn," he grinned and swung his leg over the seat, before starting the engine. Then he popped a red button on the wall next to him and the garage door raised open.

"By the way son," Allister added as he revved the engine some more. "That man with the corks, he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Oh, no," Donovan shook his head and was eager to get the show on the road. "I didn't let him."

"You know what we'll be doing next?" he questioned.

"No, what?" asked Donovan.

"We're going to take some real swords and do some fencing. And we're going to learn how to fight like men," he replied.

"Alright! This is getting good!" Donovan shrugged with an off-handed laugh. "But what are you saying? That we're not already men?"

"Why, heavens no! Of course, we're men, you silly goob! I'm just saying that we can become better men. That's all!" he answered.

Donovan nodded in agreement. "This is getting better all the time! Let the games begin!"

Then Allister revved the engine again and they were off, somewhat unsteady at first as they inched out over the cobblestone street, but then managed to even out the glide once they met the pavement of the street.

From the backdrop of the estate was a perfect view of the green fields and stable, and beyond that an open road with the wind behind them.

### About the Author

Anita Melillo lives in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, Tony. Together they have two grown children and two others in different stages of growing independence. In addition to writing, she has a nursing career, and both she and her husband are volunteer Firefighters in the town they reside in. Anita also has a great love for nature, off-roading on forest trails, motorcycle riding with her spouse, and enjoys traveling. One of her greatest passions in life has always been writing.

Her inspiration for writing, "The Great Empty," came when her children were young, along with her love for exploring the outdoors. A sequel to "The Great Empty" will be forthcoming entitled, "Villages North of Here".

She has also written another fictional novel, entitled, "Ford at Valverde," a civil war era adventure, and is currently working on a psycological suspense thriller.

If you have read and enjoyed this novel, please consider posting a review on Amazon.com. It only has to be a couple of sentences and really makes an impression for other readers. Thank you.

If you would like to contact the author, you may do so at:

Twitter: @AnitaMelillo

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Email: AnitaMelillo@gmail.com

