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Back Dead Horse Gap Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. Prologue
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Acknowledgements

Ryder nodded at the black clouds hovering over the distant mountains. ‘It looks like you’re going to need them. Maybe I should pick some up too and go with you.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it, Sarge, I can handle it.’

‘I wonder why she asked to see you at the hut,’ Ryder said as they threw the remnants of their lunch in the bin. ‘It’s like she doesn’t want to be seen talking to you.’

‘Or she wants to get me alone,’ Flowers said with a laugh, thinking of his last meeting with Cate Buchanan. ‘Nah, she said it was important.’

Ryder smirked as they walked back to the car. ‘Only one way to find out.’

section break

The storm came in fast, dumping snow as far down as Jindabyne, so an hour and a half had passed by the time Flowers parked at Dead Horse Gap. There were three other cars at the lookout, all covered in snow—one of them was Cate Buchanan’s. At least she hadn’t left.

Flowers zipped up his parka and pulled his beanie down as far as he could. He moved to the start of the track, the wind roaring through the valley with such ferocity it almost knocked him over. He stopped, raising a forearm to cover his face as snow, ice and wind hurtled into him.

When he’d dropped Ryder at the Golden Wattle, the sarge had told him to wait, then returned to the car a few minutes later with his goggles and neck warmer. You’ll need these, he had said. And keep the two-way radio on you.

Flowers set off, surrounded by fast-moving clouds and fog. With his vision reduced to a couple of metres, he followed the path carefully, warming up despite the freezing conditions. The hard-packed, icy trail from last time was now soft underfoot thanks to the fresh layer of snow. He stopped to pick up a small branch that had fallen onto the path. Roughly the length of a Nordic walking pole, he kept hold of it and tramped on.

The lack of visibility made him feel like it was taking longer than last time to reach the place where the trail forked in two. Flowers hesitated, realising he’d been looking down at the track the entire time, and had failed to look out for the signpost pointing the way to Buchanan Hut. He had no idea if he’d passed the fork in the trail or not.