‘G’day, Doc,’ said the black tracker as he leaned down from his stock horse to speak through the window. ‘Boss said alonga you. Big storm wipe out track.’

‘Thanks, Jimmy. Much appreciated, mate. How’s the leg?’

Jimmy grinned as he held on to his hat. ‘You make betta, plenty good.’

‘And how’s the lovely Delilah – still keeping you on your toes?’

Jimmy grinned at the mention of his wife. ‘She good too, Doc. Plenty kids, but she alonga good tracka like me.’

Hugh was still smiling as he wound the window back up against the whip of the dust-laden wind and followed the slender figure hunched in his saddle. Jimmy and Delilah were regarded as two of the best trackers in the district. A couple of years back Jimmy had broken his leg in two places when he’d been thrown by his horse, and he was glad the man had come through so well; Jimmy was just the man to have at your side in conditions like these.

Just over an hour later they saw the lights of the homestead and the anxious figures waiting for them on the veranda. Hugh thanked Jimmy again, reached for his medical bags and hurried up the steps. He was dreading what he suspected he would find.

*

Algernon’s hat had been whipped away by the wind some time ago, and he trudged along the track with his jacket over his head to shield him from the scour of the sand that was being blown at him from all sides. He’d thought he’d heard muffled explosions far behind him some time ago, but had dismissed them as thunder. The storm was clearly building, and he was feeling very vulnerable in the middle of nowhere, with no sign of shelter and no hope of rescue.

His legs felt as if they were made of lead, and his head was pounding from the deep pain that blurred his vision and made him nauseous, but he didn’t dare slake his terrible thirst, for he had no idea how long he would be out here. His thoughts skittered from one thing to another as he kept his gaze on the track and tried to overcome his terror. He couldn’t see his watch in the darkness, but it felt as if he’d been walking for hours.

Algernon’s discomfort and fevered thoughts merely stoked his confusion and fear. He’d been positive that the highway had been metalled, and although he vaguely remembered driving over this rough track, he was sure it had only been for a few miles. But where was the bitumen – surely he should have reached it by now?