The dust storm had rolled in not long after the ambulance had moved them to the clinic. It had shrouded the township and grounded the RFDS aircraft before it could come back from taking Jessamine and her babies to Alice Springs with extra medical help.

Now, hours later, she knew that in the dark the great Uluru would be dusted with eddies of sand, and red dirt would coat all the trees and the grasses in the desert as far as the eye could see when the sun rose. They’d blow away soon.

She wished she could go outside and scream away the fear and pain and mental exhaustion, but it would hurt her head. And she wouldn’t leave Zac. Wouldn’t leave him in the understaffed centre that was meant for daytime clinics only. They’d recruited a doctor from the other private medical clinic. After checking Ava and Zac, he and Jill had taken over the care of the occupants of the other car, who were in need of emergency resuscitation and Ava had said she’d watch Zac and call out if he deteriorated. And she had, mostly alone, until Denise had heard and arrived as support, though she was away briefly now to find Ava a drink.

Ava stared at the small window showing the empty road. Denise had been amazing, and Ava allowed herself to be soothed again by the bush medicine leaf pattern on the curtain material, copied from one of Denise’s Dreamtime paintings. Her friend would be glad she was drawing strength from the flowing motion and undulating rhythm of the vivid lilac and white strokes. The brushstrokes seemed to ripple across the material with their significance to local traditional Aboriginal culture and healing. Healing that she needed desperately for the man she loved.

For the last two hours, as she’d twisted her hands in fear and Zac’s pulse had grown more erratic, she’d tried to keep him stable until the flying doctor could airlift him out. He’d been too agitated, restless, and Ava had been beside herself trying to calm him. Visibility was down to mere feet on the road to Alice, so there was nothing they could do until a plane could land.

She feared she’d lose her big, beautiful man, with the extent of his head injury unknown and the torn wound on his arm, which she’d bound in the car as he’d threatened to bleed out. It was the simple things that could kill you. She stared at his pale face and beautiful eyes, which were shut to the world, his long, dark lashes lying still now against his ashen cheeks.