Vanished by James Delargy (best books to read in life txt) 📗

She had always feared being confined by a baby. Her social life was vibrant – as much as being in the force allowed anyway. She had a litter of friends, she went to pubs and clubs and bars but as time went on she had found herself unable to switch off, her police radar constantly scanning for signs of trouble. She had seen what trouble could do, so her mind was attuned to ascertaining where it may occur. It was a problem to which she had found only one solution. An alcoholic solution that dulled her senses but which often led to overconsumption. The window was slender. Too little and the thoughts persisted, too much and she had a tendency to lose control. It had happened before and she’d regretted it. Not in having slept with someone she shouldn’t have – but that alcohol was involved in the decision.

The glow of the computer screen waited for her. Sleep waited too but the couch/bed wasn’t comfortable enough to make it anything other than a necessity. The only other option was Hurton. Maybe she could have a few and hook up with Matty. It was the one advantage of working around the state, a ‘no-tie fly-by’. There was no need to have a loved one, if love was at the tip of her fingers. There when she wanted it and gone when she didn’t.

From somewhere far away the sound of dingoes baying rose, disrupting her consciousness. When had they started? Had they been howling for a while and she had only just noticed? The plaintive howls reminded her of a lot of things – drinking, sex, loneliness. She hadn’t heard them last night but being north of the dingo fence they were to be expected. They would go where they sensed food. Which she might count as for a hungry pack of animals.

The howling continued, rising and falling, almost echoing around the bare caravan, a hollow wail of loneliness. Were they catching her scent and slowly approaching? Was this what Naiyana had experienced? If so, it hadn’t scared her off. She had stuck around. Until after Christmas at least.

Emmaline decided to get to work. Bury herself in the notes and ignore everything else. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner she could get back to bright lights, clubs and opportunities.

These pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a scratch at the door. One single scratch. The dogs were on the hunt, looking for prey.

Drawing her gun she approached the door. She didn’t need them scratching on the caravan all night. She would go out and warn them off. Fire a shot. If she needed to.

As she reached for the scooped handle, she felt a sudden stab of paranoia. Her sense of unease grew. Firing a warning shot was stupid. An overreaction. All she needed to do was make some noise and they would back off. She was the one in control. Outside, the baying continued, as if the animals were calling to each other. Calling her to join them. Tempting her to come out and play.

The handle felt cold as she turned it. Taking a deep breath she shoved it open.

The night air flooded in, fresh and clean compared to the stale, rancid caravan. There was no dog at her door. A quick glance either way confirmed that none were waiting to pounce.

Now unhindered by the aluminium shell, the baying seemed to increase in intensity. Like there was an orchestra in progress somewhere beyond Kallayee, one dog seeming to conduct the rest. Something was happening. Emmaline needed to know what.

Following the sound, she quickly found herself outside the confines of town, scrambling her way over many sand dunes and the gibber plains, past the lonely clumps of eucalyptus and mulga shrubs. She kept walking, the dingoes drawing her closer like Sirens on the desert sea, her gun raised, anticipating an attack. Right now she didn’t feel like a predator at the top of the food chain. She knew she should have turned back for the safety of the caravan but they kept calling to her, feeding into her weakness, the lure of the unknown, speaking to her obsessive nature. Maybe Naiyana had been lured by the same thing but without a gun to protect her. Surely she wouldn’t have been that stupid.

As the moon dipped behind one of the few clouds in the sky, the outback suddenly grew dark. Emmaline froze. More stupidity. She had left her torch behind. Was something in town turning her stupid, some malevolent force luring her to her death? It certainly felt like it, the air noticeably cooler out here in the bush, no brick, no tarmac, no tin roofs to trap the heat. Her breath lightly misted the air in front of her.

The cloud and the darkness passed as she inched over an open and sandy crest. In the near distance she saw them, their eyes glaring in the moonlight, almond-shaped with an almost blue-green reflection, their gathered breath like a fog. The pack of ten dingoes were all sandy yellow, their coat colour determined by the desert they lived in, their ears pricked and furtive, aware of the stranger in their midst.

The pack had surrounded something, some guarding, some eating. The baying grew louder, evolving into short, harsh barks. She had never heard a dingo bark before and though she wasn’t scared of dogs, these wild animals were something different altogether. She held no qualms over shooting them if they attacked. From this distance across the sandy scrub she was confident that she could hit a person. But a dog? They would move faster. In a straight line maybe but fast. A fast, narrow target to aim at.

She moved closer. The dingoes began to part, the barks turning into decrying howls of unfairness. Akin to a gaggle of monosyllabled teenagers having to give up something they had fought for. Emmaline wondered if she was putting herself at risk over some poor