Blood & Dust (45 page)

And there she stood, a wraith silhouetted in the dusky light of dawn, huddled inside her hooded
coat like some kind of monk stepping out of the mists of time.

A blackened hand emerged, fingers spread: Stop.

He thought about driving past. He thought about ramming her. But what he did was pull over and
push the door open.

Who had he been fooling?

Mira dived into the seat and stayed down, cowering below the level of the dash. She'd lost her
breastplate; her top was torn and stiff with blood. She was little more than a skeleton wrapped in
flesh the colour of old headstones. He'd seen vampires like this before, usually at the end of a
long hunt when they'd burnt up every drop they had. Reduced to animal instinct, just one big parcel
of teeth and hunger.

'Drive,' she whispered, that one word carrying pain and thirst and such bitter determination. And
something else, unless he was mistaken; something he'd never heard from her before. Despair.

'You found her then?'

'We danced, ate cake: it was lovely.'

'Did you get satisfaction, Strigoi?'

'Just drive.' She manoeuvred to open the dash compartment but he pulled her up.

'I've used it, and I've still got holes in me.' In other words, if you don't want to drive
yourself, keep your fangs off, bitch.

She punched the dash. Something cracked. If it was her, she gave no sign. 'I could take it back,'
she said. 'Penance for letting the grease monkey get the best of you.'

'The pup's alive, then.' He felt a curious mix of satisfaction and foreboding at the thought.

'For now. Him and his red-eye bitch, it seems.' She rubbed her left wrist. The blood bracelet
second highest on her arm looked like a savage case of rope burn. Ouch.

He surreptitiously made sure his door wasn't locked. Just in case he needed a quick departure.
Jumping from a moving vehicle would be safer than being locked in the cabin with a starving,
pissed-off Mira.

'No word from Felicity?' she asked.

'Radio's out and I've lost my phone. We might meet her, if she's taking this road.'

Mira gave a short, sharp cry as she scrambled over to lay prone on the rear seat, out of the
sunlight pushing through the window tint and the dust plume behind them.

'So where are we headed?' he asked.

'Nearest town. I need breakfast.'

'And then?'

''Bane,' she said. 'To face the music.'

'At least the Night Riders have been wiped out.'

'But the head remains.' She huddled inside her cloak. 'Wake me when we're there. I'm famished.'

'Oh, shit,' Reece said only minutes later.

'What now?' She sat up, a silhouette in the back seat against the sun beaming through the rear
window.

'We're overheating.'

'You think?'

He tapped a gauge. 'I mean the truck. The grease monkey's nobbled us.'

'And this means?'

He pulled the four-wheel-drive up and reached for another cigarette. 'It's gonna be quite some
time till breakfast. Unless Felicity turns up with takeaway.' Reece smoked in the light of dawn,
waiting for the night or for rescue, whichever came first, while Mira lay in the back and fumed.

Hunched wattle trees dotted the graveyard like praying mourners; gum trees kept
tall, straight vigil. Jesus, angels and the Virgin stood amid the headstones, glimmering in the
light of the full moon. His father's grave, too new for a headstone, was the latest in a row of
ochre humps. It had been dry out here, the past couple of years, and the earth, it seemed, did not
accept these offerings, though they were buried deep. It left these scars cracked and parched, like
needle sticks along a junkie's vein.

Kevin looked at his mother's corpse. How could she be anything other than natural? She who had
lived as best they could, in love with the land, now returning to it as totally, as wholly, as
possible. His crimson tears spotted his mother's cheeks as he laid her body on his father's grave.
He had wanted to say some words, to let them both know how much he loved them, how much he needed
their forgiveness. But the tears were insistent and he could not talk.

He knelt at his mother's feet, his father's too, then slowly lowered himself until he straddled
her body. He reached out, first to the body, then to the soil. He pleaded with the earth, prayed to
it. Taipan had shown him that clothes couldn't go, but he rejected that. It wasn't right, wasn't
proper. He felt his blood warm, glow with a dull purplish light, as he reached out through the
corpse under him. Colder than him. The earth under it, cold, then warm. The whisper of wind, the
call of cockatoos filled his ears as he reached for the warmth beneath him.

Gradually, he and his mother sank, clothes and all, through the crusty surface, the thick dirt,
until she rested close to the coffin's timber. For a moment he stayed, reaching out, finding only
earth and death, equally quiet and dispassionate. Mother and father were long gone. Earth, he
realised, as warm as it was, didn't care. He rose, earth scouring through him and around him, and
lay on the surface, smelling the dirt, feeling it beneath him, all but undisturbed. The air was
cool, the night still.

Meg stood nearby, arms folded. 'You've kind of freaked me out,' she said as he stood and dusted
himself off.

'Yeah, me too.'

Kala and Danica waited with the Sandman, parked a polite distance away near the Monaro. Byely and
Cherny stood at relaxed guard nearby. There'd been no evidence of trouble when Kevin had fetched the
Rover, an old, curve-roofed caravan hooked up behind it and - godsend - an Esky full of decant.

The dogs had been cautious, but eventually jumped in the back for the long, tense drive around to
rendezvous with Danica and a subdued Kala at the Sandman.

They'd found the Jag still there, and on the drive out passed Mira's torched four-wheel-drive,
but saw no sign of its occupants. They'd driven on to Barlow's Siding so Kevin could pay his last
respects.

'So what happens now?' Meg asked.

'Your folks still goin' to Brissie?'

'I think what's happened, with the servo and that, yeah, I think that's decided them.'

'And you? You're goin' with them?'

She bit her lip then said, 'I don't see why I wouldn't. My neck's much better. And no, I don't
want you to bleed on it, but thanks again for the offer.'

They shared a laugh at the absurdity that was now normal.

'Danica says Brissie should be safe enough - she doesn't think Mira will try the same trick
twice.'

'Do I want to know?'

'Just watch out for them city boys.'

She hit him in the arm, and they hugged. He breathed her in, her and the cemetery dirt, and he
knew those smells, this moment, would stay with him forever.

'I'll never forget you,' he said.

She cracked a smile, her face so close to his, her breath warm and tea-fragrant. She'd been
drinking a cup when he'd turned up at her house to fetch the Monaro, to bring his mother home.
'You'd better not, mister.'

'I can't,' he said, and kissed her. 'You're in my blood.'

She shivered and stepped away. 'You're going with them, aren't you? Those
women
.'

'It's not like that.'

'I wish it was that simple.' She held his hand. 'So, do you know where you're headed?'

He glimpsed Kala over at the cars pulling at her ear lobe while she talked to Danica. 'Dunno, but
there's a pretty good chance I'll end up in Brissie, too. Gotta see a woman about returning
something that doesn't belong to her.'

As they turned away from the grave and began walking toward the cars, he heard Taipan, surfacing
from his lifestream, saying:

Takin' somethin' and keepin' it are two different things

He smiled. Finally, he and his blood father agreed on something.

He gave Meg the keys to the Sandman, wished her luck and kissed her again, a peck on the cheek.
Then he joined Kala and Danica at the Monaro. He opened the door and flipped the seat forward for
Danica.

'You better ride in the back, Mother; keep those mutts under control until we get back to the
Rover.'

He waited for Kala to take the passenger seat, closed the door and went around to the driver's
side. Gave Meg a final nod over the roof and got in, hit the ignition.

He was driving.

This story has been more than ten years in the making and many friends have
contributed to its development since those early days in Rockhampton.

To Philip and Gavin and the other members of our dice-rolling coterie, my thanks for their
friendship and contributions at the point of genesis; I've given credit where I could, however
oblique, in the text.

Various writing groups have seen iterations of this tale: Vision, the Edge, SuperNova, the QUT
Specficcers. Particular thanks are due to Ellen, Stephen and Peter for their support and erudite
critiques of this final version, and editors Keith Stevenson and Sue Abbey for assessments that gave
much food for thought. Jack Dann, the eternal optimist; Kim Wilkins, the energiser; Alison Goodman,
Sean Williams and Paul Brandon have also influenced this story directly with their feedback over
coffee, wine and good times that have made the journey a joy.

My thanks to Selwa Anthony, the most patient agent ever, and the staff at Xoum for taking the
first (digital) step with
Blood and Dust
, and to Clan Destine Press's Lindy Cameron for
taking the story and its sequel farther down the road. It's wonderful to see both books in both
paperback and digital formats.

And my love and appreciation to my wife and fellow writer Kirstyn McDermott, who makes all things
possible.

Vampires

in the

Sunburnt Country

Vols 1 & 2

If you enjoyed this selection from our catalogue, you might like:

CLAN DESTINE PRESS

is proud to release

this ebook

and hopes you enjoyed the story.

http://www.clandestinepress.com.au

First published in eBook form by Clan Destine Press in 2015

PO Box 121, Bittern

Victoria 3918 Australia

Copyright © Jason Nahrung 2012

First published by Xoum Publishing, Sydney 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
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whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-In-Publication data:

Nahrung, Jason

Blood & Dust

Vampires in the Sunburnt Country 1

ISBN 978-0-9942619-3-9

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