The Great Empty Read online

  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 h
e 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 sear
ch. 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.