Free The Road to Winter by Mark Smith Page B

her body. I get the cloth again and bring a bucket of water to her bed. She stirs when I start wiping her face, her eyes opening for a few seconds.
    ‘So hot,’ she murmurs.
    I don’t know what to say so I keep dipping the cloth in the water and sponging her down. Her hand strokes her belly.
    ‘I didn’t know how to tell you,’ she says.
    Tears well in her eyes but there’s anger behind them too.
    ‘What am I going to do?’ she asks.
    ‘I’ve worked out a plan,’ I say. ‘I’ll be in and out to see that you’re okay, but I’ve gotta get things organised. I’m going to head out this arvo and see Ray. Remember I told you about him? He’ll be able to help us.’
    She’s drifting off again.
    ‘Finn,’ she manages to say, ‘you talk so much.’
    A faint smile crosses her lips before she falls asleep.

Rowdy and I scout the long way again, out past the golf course that’s gradually being reclaimed by the bush. It takes about half an hour to get up to the fence and this time I approach cautiously, staying low and crawling to take advantage of the bracken fern for cover.
    Up closer, I signal to Rowdy and he drops to his haunches and waits. Everything’s quiet. To my right I can see a rabbit in one of the traps. It’s still alive, pawing at the ground with its front legs to try to escape the metal jaws. It’s the only sign of movement up here. Even the wind has backed off; the trees are still.
    I scuttle back into the scrub and make my way parallel to the fence until I find the tree from yesterday. Rowdy drops at the base of the trunk while I climb into the canopy. There’s still no sign of life, no smoke from a fire and no body of the man attacked by Ramage yesterday.
    I climb down and walk back towards the rabbit in the trap. I’m about ten metres from it when Rowdy freezes. His ears are pricked and the hair on the back of his neck is bristling.
    ‘What is it boy?’ I whisper, dropping to my stomach. Rowdy holds his position. I pop my head up just above the ferns and scan the paddock. Nothing. But as I drop down again, I see it. Just in front of the rabbit in the trap is a mound of leaves in a circle. I probably wouldn’t have seen it if I was standing up, but at ground level I can see it’s an unnatural shape and there are boot marks around it. There’s a piece of rope snaking off to a tree branch that’s been bent down and tied to a metal peg in the ground. It’s a trap—and it’s meant for me.
    I don’t know if they are watching, but I figure if they were they’d probably have made a move by now. I edge around the booby trap, scramble in to get the rabbit, free it from the jaws and quickly stretch its neck. I can’t risk losing the trap so I pull it up, shake the dirt off it and place it carefully in my backpack, followed by the rabbit. The other four traps are all further along the fence so I follow it until I find them too. They’re all empty, and I trigger each with a piece of wood and stash them in a hollow log, hoping I’m not disturbing a snake.
    I can move freely again without the weight of the traps andI make good time down into a gully before I pick up the trail that will lead me to the cliff tops and out along the coast to Ray’s valley.
    This is the quickest way to Ray’s, but it’s also the most dangerous. The track is exposed because the bush ends and the low heathland takes over a couple of hundred metres back from the edge. Anyone hanging back in the tree line will be able to see me, but I just have to take the risk.
    The sun is starting to drop—I know I have to hurry. Ray may not answer my signal if I get there past dark. I’m not worried about making my way home at night; I reckon I could do the trip blindfolded.
    It starts to rain, but it’s thin and misty—not enough to hide me. Rowdy senses the danger and moves along close to my leg. There’s a stretch of about five hundred metres that gives no cover, so we break into a steady run. The rain thickens and low