little, not quite sure where to go with the questioning. I’m not much of a detective and right then I could have done with Rink or Harvey along: someone who knew how to conduct a real interview. It struck me again that I was tugging at a few loose threads – probably unconnected – and trusting too much in the coincidence that three of the missing four girls looked alike. But then again, coincidences do happen, and they often interlink to become synchronicity. And synchronicity can affect the eventual outcome of incidents in the real world. From his bunk, Rob muttered something. Scott and I looked his way, and he stood up and ambled towards us, hanging on to the trailer wall for support. ‘You’re forgetting about the Logans, Scott. Why not tell him about those crazy Logan boys?’
‘The Logans?’ I echoed. ‘Yeah, Scott, why don’t you tell me about them?’
He did.
Before he was even halfway through his story I was itching to get on my way.
The Logans – those crazy Logans – were definitely due a visit, and, judging by their local legend, I was pleased that I hadn’t wasted any bullets on Rob or Burt.
9
Jay woke up in a strange place. Stranger than even the two places she’d awakened in the past two mornings. For the briefest of time she’d no memory of how she’d got to this new place and she lay there, attempting to make sense of her surroundings. Above her was a ceiling so close that should she reach out with her fingertips, she would scrape her nails on the corrugated tin sheets. Spider webs clung to the grooves, old and dusty, and here and there corrosion had nipped at the edges of old nail holes to widen the gaps. Through the holes she could discern the pale blue of a sun-bleached sky. To both sides of her were walls made of timber that smelled faintly of creosote, and if she could see that far in the dim light she was sure that a similar wall would enclose the far end.
The heat was stifling.
She could barely breathe.
Panic struck and she tried to throw her hands out, to push up on the tin sheets, but a rope had been tied to each wrist and passed beneath her lower back. She struggled in vain to pull free, but all that she gained was chafed skin and less oxygen. Her heart hammered in her chest and she realised that she had to concentrate, to stop herself from hyperventilating, or she would pass out again and then she would be no use to anyone.
That random thought brought everything flooding back to her, all of the memories crashing down on her like an avalanche. She decided the crushing feeling in her chest was the weight of all she’d endured until she understood that she was still straining against the rope and it was actually the pulling of her overtaxed muscle fibres.
Finally she sank down, making an effort now to subdue her frantic breathing, to calm herself. But it wasn’t easy.
She recalled the incident at the gas station all those days ago, and the subsequent chase by the mad men in the pick-up truck.
‘Why didn’t I just keep my fat mouth shut, Nic?’
Her words came back to her, and not for the first time either, because never had a sentiment proved more exact. It was wholly unjust that she’d been so right then whereas her next statement had turned out so wildly wrong: ‘I won’t let anything happen. I promise.’
The second she’d seen the pick-up truck materialise from the heat haze she’d known they were both in big trouble. Nicole had known it as well, but had placed her faith in Jay to get them out of it. The problem was her promise had been empty: she’d no idea how she was going to stop the men from catching them.
As the truck had speeded up, Jay told Nicole, ‘Call nine-one-one, Nic. Tell the police what’s happening and to get here as quickly as possible.’
Nicole tried, but with no luck. ‘I can’t get a signal, Jay. We’re out in the desert . . . there’s no network coverage!’
‘Keep trying,’ Jay said. Beside her, Nicole bounced in the seat,
‘The Logans?’ I echoed. ‘Yeah, Scott, why don’t you tell me about them?’
He did.
Before he was even halfway through his story I was itching to get on my way.
The Logans – those crazy Logans – were definitely due a visit, and, judging by their local legend, I was pleased that I hadn’t wasted any bullets on Rob or Burt.
9
Jay woke up in a strange place. Stranger than even the two places she’d awakened in the past two mornings. For the briefest of time she’d no memory of how she’d got to this new place and she lay there, attempting to make sense of her surroundings. Above her was a ceiling so close that should she reach out with her fingertips, she would scrape her nails on the corrugated tin sheets. Spider webs clung to the grooves, old and dusty, and here and there corrosion had nipped at the edges of old nail holes to widen the gaps. Through the holes she could discern the pale blue of a sun-bleached sky. To both sides of her were walls made of timber that smelled faintly of creosote, and if she could see that far in the dim light she was sure that a similar wall would enclose the far end.
The heat was stifling.
She could barely breathe.
Panic struck and she tried to throw her hands out, to push up on the tin sheets, but a rope had been tied to each wrist and passed beneath her lower back. She struggled in vain to pull free, but all that she gained was chafed skin and less oxygen. Her heart hammered in her chest and she realised that she had to concentrate, to stop herself from hyperventilating, or she would pass out again and then she would be no use to anyone.
That random thought brought everything flooding back to her, all of the memories crashing down on her like an avalanche. She decided the crushing feeling in her chest was the weight of all she’d endured until she understood that she was still straining against the rope and it was actually the pulling of her overtaxed muscle fibres.
Finally she sank down, making an effort now to subdue her frantic breathing, to calm herself. But it wasn’t easy.
She recalled the incident at the gas station all those days ago, and the subsequent chase by the mad men in the pick-up truck.
‘Why didn’t I just keep my fat mouth shut, Nic?’
Her words came back to her, and not for the first time either, because never had a sentiment proved more exact. It was wholly unjust that she’d been so right then whereas her next statement had turned out so wildly wrong: ‘I won’t let anything happen. I promise.’
The second she’d seen the pick-up truck materialise from the heat haze she’d known they were both in big trouble. Nicole had known it as well, but had placed her faith in Jay to get them out of it. The problem was her promise had been empty: she’d no idea how she was going to stop the men from catching them.
As the truck had speeded up, Jay told Nicole, ‘Call nine-one-one, Nic. Tell the police what’s happening and to get here as quickly as possible.’
Nicole tried, but with no luck. ‘I can’t get a signal, Jay. We’re out in the desert . . . there’s no network coverage!’
‘Keep trying,’ Jay said. Beside her, Nicole bounced in the seat,
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