The crash startled a mob of kangaroos feeding on the grass. They had loped into town at dusk, thick tails skipping across the hot asphalt. The roos sought relief from the dry yellow plains that surrounded the town, going in search of the slightly less yellow grass of the sportsground. Both were home to nests of brown snakes by day, drawn to the heat of a constant sun. The local base hospital never had enough antivenom.

Grabbed by her hair, tensed tight like twine, she was dragged across the grass, her skirt tearing, briefs around her knees. As if sensing that something unusual was happening, the roos scattered, hopping this way and that. They were hungry, thirsty and, as a consequence, aggressive. They had overcome their fear of humans but remained feral; they lashed out at passers-by, dogs and dog walkers and drunks, boxing claws and firing kicks. But not tonight.

The sound of a second car approaching interrupted proceedings. The lack of a fast-revving engine indicated it was either a lost out-of-towner or local police vehicle on routine patrol. Flashing blue lights confirmed the latter, but the knee-high grass obscured the oval, and the occupants saw nothing more than a discarded shopping trolley on its side, wheels static. The car kept going, the neon blue disappearing, and the night again falling dark and silent.

Heavy footsteps were soon around her ears, hands again on her hair, pulling it backwards, dragging her limp body further east. They were leaving the oval, heading for the copse of gum trees behind the scoreboard. Dry sheets of sharp bark clawed at her skin, leaving dark-red whiplashes across her milky white back. The next sound was her spine crunching against one of the thick trunks as she was moved into position and fixed with a thick roll of gaffer tape around her shoulders, breasts, wrists, torso, thighs, ankles.

She was left there for some time – several minutes. Ample opportunity for her to be found if it hadn’t been such a late hour or desolate part of town. She hung there, strung like a puppet. Something started crawling up her leg.

The wind picked up. It blew the crusty hair from her eyes and rippled the long green curtains of leaves on the hunched willows beside the creek bed. Running parallel to the oval, the creek hadn’t held moisture in years.

A darkened hand touched her face, caressed it gently. Then the blade of a long machete knife, shiny and cold, pressed against her cheek, its diamond-sharp point trailing down to her neck.

Stepping away, the silhouette disappeared into the darkness. When it reappeared, it came closer, at speed, with its arm cocked back, before extending and releasing.

The first stone flew through the air, caved in her forehead and smashed the frontal bone.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1