Red Centre (5 page)

Roy clenched his teeth; fingers readjusted
on his screwdriver. He knew her threat wasn’t empty. Glancing back
at Chris, he warned, “You stay away from Frank Corbin.” He raised
his finger, pointing at Chris. “Ya hear me? Or next time you and me
will be havin’ more than just words.” He grabbed his balls, giving
them a good scratch. Maybe it was a sign of manhood, or of just an
uncouth man. Chris wasn’t sure. “Ya hear me?” he continued, kicking
dirt at Chris as he reluctantly moved off towards his truck.

Chris felt his body ease and relax as Roy
climbed up into his old, beat-up shit wagon. Black smoke from the
exhaust and the smell of oil and diesel drifted over Chris as Roy
drove off. His back wheels spun in the loose dirt as he peeled off
into the distance.

“
Sorry about that. That
was Roy Lambert, village idiot and town drunk.”

“
What’s his problem?”
Chris said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“
People ’round here don’t
like strangers comin’ around asking questions and stirring the pot.
Especially when it comes to Frank Corbin. He’s had a lot of media
attention in recent years, with his wife and all. It’s a ‘you
scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ kinda community. Everyone
looks out for everyone else.”

“
Should I be
concerned?”

“
I don’t think he’s too
dangerous. But he did serve some time a couple of years back for
assault or something like that.”

Chris nodded his head. He opened his door,
ready to leave. “What do you think happened to Frank’s wife?”

“
Now that’s a mystery.”
Lisa looked down to the ground, kind of embarrassed. “He says that
a … arrr ...” She scratched her head. “A UFO took her.”

“
Yeah, I read that. What
do you think?”

“
Frank’s not a man that
would make up something like that. But who knows, maybe he did
something to her. You never truly know people, do ya?” Lisa frowned
slightly. “Why all the interest in Frank Corbin and his
story?”

“
I’m trying hard to
believe him.”

“
You might be the only
one. Besides Roy Lambert.” She gave a sympathetic smile. “You sure
you’re not a reporter?” Lisa turned to walk back into the station.
She stopped and turned back. “Speaking of UFOs, a couple of campers
were telling a crazy story just last night about strange lights in
the sky.”

The sun finally dipped below the horizon.
Night air turned cold. Stars pricked through the deep, navy-blue
night sky. Little campfires flickered warm, orange light throughout
the camp site. The smell of wood-fire smoke and cooking lingered in
the air. Lisa and Chris shared time with an older couple they met
an hour before sundown: Pete and Betty Davis. They were both in
their sixties, retired. Traveling the countryside was their only
passion, apart from their grandchildren.

A chilly breeze blew through the camp. They
had seen colder nights out here, but it still felt good to sit by
the fire. The flickering light, the crackle of the burning wood,
helped calm a troubled mind. Betty poured everyone a cup of hot
chocolate. Wrapped with both hands, the rich, silky drink was a
welcome accompaniment to the fire.

Pete stared into Chris’ eyes with intensity.
He was very animated as he spoke. “We had been driving all day. We
were pushing on. It was just near Devil’s Marbles when we first saw
it.”

Chris shot a look at Lisa
for clarification—
Devil’s Marbles?
She whispered, not wanting to interrupt Pete, “A
valley of large, round boulders. It’s a sacred site.”

Pete continued, “When I first saw it, I just
thought it was a star. It was moving slowly …”

An old, beat-up 1961 Kombi sped along an
abandoned highway. It had seen better days. It was well worn, faded
and peeling paint; two tone, white on top, a greenish brown on
bottom. Its engine sounded like a two-stroke lawn mower as it made
its journey.

A sea of desert stretched for what seemed
like forever. Not that you’d know it. No street lights out here,
only darkness. Out here the moon and stars are your street lights.
Pete’s eyes darted around in front of him, keeping a close eye on
the road as he drove the Kombi twenty klicks below the speed limit.
One headlight was out and the other struggled to do the job of two.
The warm road frequently attracted kangaroos and other wildlife.
Pete had mowed down (by accident) his fair share of wildlife. Betty
tinkered with a small, portable television in her lap, as she
stretched out on the passenger seat. The TV wasn’t working.

A small, reddish-orange star broke away from
the other stars and drew closer to the Kombi, matching its speed.
The star tracked alongside. It wasn’t long before Pete noticed the
strange occurrence. He wasn’t sure what he was even looking at. The
star got closer and closer. Red and orange light surrounded the
vehicle ...

Pete paused relaying his story. He broke his
stare with Chris, looking down into his cup. A lump formed in his
throat. He gently swirled the chocolate liquid, stirring up
sediment off the bottom. “It just came right up next to us. Almost
toying with us. Watching us. It was like the sun.”

“
More like a yellow
fireball!” Betty interrupted, giving a small, chastising slap on
Pete’s knee.

Chris edged forward, enthralled by their
story.

“
It just stayed
there—floating,” Pete continued. “It could have done anything it
wanted with us.” He took a drink of his hot chocolate. “Well, it’s
getting late. I better let you good people be on your
way.”

Chris looked over at Lisa. He scratched his
head, wanting to know more. His eyes were wide, taking everything
in. “Please, continue.”

“
There isn’t much more to
say. It just taunted us for about ten minutes. Betty and I didn’t
know what to do. We just kept driving.”

“
Then it just took
off”—Betty flung her arm—“like a flash.”

Pete nodded, agreeing with Betty. “Just
disappeared. Gone like a flash. Back to the stars. As though it was
never there.”

“
I think it got bored of
his slow driving.”

“
I’ve seen things like
that before over the years in these parts.” Pete nodded, looking at
Betty for support.

Betty slapped him on the leg again. “Behave
yourself! You have not. We haven’t seen anything like that
before.”

“
Quiet you! You don’t know
what you’re talking about.” Pete leaned forward, with a serious
look, no longer his usual, animated self. The flickering flames
reflected in his eyes and colored his face shades of orange. He
paused for a moment. “The Aborigines call them ‘Sky Beings’—‘The
Spirit in the Cloud.’”

“
We’ve seen all the
paintings,” Betty said flippantly. “They’re throughout the
Kimberley. All the wonderful rock paintings. Just amazing. We’ve
seen a lot of amazing things in our travels. Haven’t we, doll?” She
nudged Pete with her arm. “We just love to travel.”

Pete was undeterred by Betty’s interruption.
He kept his intense look. “Some refer to a supreme being—‘Djamar.’
They say you can hear him coming. It’s the sound of roaring wind.
The Aborigines call it ‘The Bullroarer.’” Pete broke his intense
stare, sipping more of his drink.

He continued, “We need to know more about
what’s out there.” He motioned with his head to the star-filled
night sky above.

“
What do you think is out
there?” Chris asked.

“
Aliens!” Pete said
confidently.

“
Aliens?” Chris
questioned.

Pete nodded at Chris. “Yep. I think we don’t
know anything about these supreme beings because of the government
cover ups. It’s all a government cover up.”

“
Yes definitely,” Betty
interjected.

Chris looked at Lisa with
one eyebrow raised.
Is this guy for
real?

Lisa raised her eyebrows back at Chris, took
a sip of her hot chocolate. This story wasn’t easy to buy,
especially from an old, quirky couple—possibly on the edge of
dementia.

Chris turned his attention back to Pete. “Do
you think it was a—” he cleared his throat “—a UFO?”

“
I couldn’t identify
it.”

Betty poked a stick at the fire. “Pete would
know. He was in the army for two years, back when we was first
married. I would definitely say it was a UFO.”

“
How big was it?” Chris
pressed for more details.

Pete scratched his head, trying to think. “I
would say it was about the size of a large plane.”

“
It was hard to tell,”
Betty said. “It was spinning.”

Chris looked back and forth between the odd
couple. “Could it have been a plane or a helicopter, anything like
that?”

“
Definitely not!” Betty
said, defending their story. “It was too big to be a
plane.”

“
I suppose it could have
been.” Pete paused, thinking about the object. “The strange thing
about it: you couldn’t hear the damn thing. It was just
silent.”

“
Did you notice anything
else?” Lisa asked.

“
I couldn’t get my
portable TV to work.” Betty nodded her head up and down. “I thought
the UFO might have caused it. But the batteries were just flat. I
like to watch all my programs, even when we’re on the road. But I
didn’t get to watch them.”

“
What time was it when you
first saw it?” Chris asked, trying to stay on topic.

“
Roughly eight o’clock at
night.”

Betty slapped Pete again. He jerked away,
frustrated with the constant slapping. “Remember? It was twelve
past eight. We had just finished dinner. We ate late that night
because we had a late breakfast. Which caused a late lunch.”

Lisa had had enough of the crazy couple and
stood to leave. She looked down at Chris. “You a believer now?”

The sun beat down on the red Cherokee. It
was parked on a small hill overlooking the Corbin house. Chris lay
balled-up on the back seat. Not the most comfortable sleeping
conditions. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as the car heated
up under the already intensifying morning sun. He stirred
slightly.

Chris’ eyes slowly opened as the sound of
running water invaded his ears. Bright sunlight stabbed his eyes as
it burst through the windshield, the light broken momentarily by
movement outside the car.

Chris shaded his eyes to see, struggling to
focus. Not enough sleep.

Soon his eyes focused on a
man, silhouetted by the sun, standing on the hood pissing over his
windshield—like a dog marking his territory.
What the hell!
was his only
thought.

The Cherokee’s back door ripped open. Chris’
leg grabbed by a stranger. He gave a kick, which struck air. His
body was quickly dragged from the four-by-four. He dropped hard
onto the desert floor. Red dust flew in the air.

Roy jumped down from the hood and joined
Frank, standing over Chris with his double barrel pointed at
him.

“
Ya think we’re playing,
city boy?” Roy said as he kicked dirt into Chris’ face and
chest.

Chris coughed as dust scratched the back of
his throat and stuck in his mouth and nose. Propping himself up on
his elbow, he raised his other hand to shield any further
attack.

“
Whatta ya doin’ here?”
Frank pushed his gun into Chris’ stomach.

“
Trying to
sleep.”

“
Smart arse!” Frank pushed
the gun harder into his stomach.

Chris grunted. “I’m looking for my son.”

Roy grabbed Chris by his ear, twisting it,
to get him to stand up. As Chris got to his feet, Roy pushed him
back into the side of the four-by-four. “Bullshit! Whatta ya really
doing here?”

“
I’m looking for my son!”
Chris said between clenched teeth.

“
Get his wallet! See who
this Yankee bastard really is.” Frank indicated to Roy.

Roy reached around, trying to grab for
Chris’ wallet.

Chris seized the opportunity, grabbing the
back of Roy’s head, yanking it down, driving his knee up. Roy’s
head snapped back. He dropped like a sack of shit. Blood burst from
his nose as he fell on his fat ass. Both hands clutched his broken
nose.

Frank quickly stepped in for the attack.
With speed Chris wrapped the gun with his left arm and grabbed
Frank’s throat with his other hand. He circled and pushed him back
toward the Cherokee, pinning the old man against it.

Both men battled over control of the
shotgun.

Frank let go of the gun and swung both
fists, one after the other; both connected, knocking Chris back.
Good move, only now Chris had the gun. With one swift move, Chris
spun the double barrel by the handle, snapping it to his shoulder
and taking aim. A move that showed he was no stranger to guns.
Frank dared not even twitch.

Roy grunted as he stumbled back to his feet,
almost losing his balance; covered in dirt and blood. He was dazed
and held his nose to stop the bleeding.

“
What do ya want from me?”
Frank said in a subdued tone, slowly raising his arms to surrender.
He was too old for this.

Chris waved the gun, indicating for the two
men to move toward the front of the four-by-four. They complied,
stepping away. Chris opened the front passenger door, snatched a
stack of pages, slammed them into Frank’s chest.