Page 80 of The Storm Boys Series Collection

“Not really. I’ve been out here once in the dry season. It looks a little different now.”

He baulked then, schooling his reaction, quickly took out his iPad, and tapped the screen a few times. “Nothing.”

“Shit.”

“I have the paper map,” he said, pulling it out of his bag. “I don’t know how detailed it will be for these parts.”

Not very, I thought. But I didn’t say that.

He unfolded it and refolded it so he could see roughly where we were. “Our camp was here,” he said, bouncing in his seat but not taking his eyes or finger off the map. “We took the north road out, turned off to go due east to the South Alligator River, about ten k’s along...” He checked the scale of the map, then checked his watch. “Considering our distance over time, we should be approximately here.” He held his finger to a certain point on the map. “Meaning we have about another five to eight kilometres to go.”

It irked me that he used intelligence, reasoning, and common sense. “Thank you.”

The forest around us had changed. No longer paperbarks and plum trees, it was now palms and mangroves, and the track was becoming more sandy. “I don’t know how much further we’ll be able to go by car,” I said. “I won’t risk getting us bogged in sand before high tide comes in. We’ll have to park, then walk in for a bit.”

He looked at me, then out the windscreen at the swampiness of our surroundings. And a look of ‘shit, what have I done?’ flashed in his eyes before he schooled that away too. He gave a nod. “Okay.”

The track got sandier and sandier, and at the next part of the track with anything close to a turning area, I pulled us up to a slow stop. “Okay, this’ll have to do us.” Doing a quick three-point turn, I turned the Jeep around so we were facing the way we’d come.

“What are you doing?”

I pointed ahead to our escape route. “In case we need to leave in a hurry.”

I didn’t miss the way he swallowed, but with nothing else said, he got out of the Jeep and began arranging his gear.

“Take only what you can carry,” I said, takin’ his map and giving it a once over. He’d done a pretty good job of giving us an estimated location. These tracks off the main road weren’t marked on any map, so I had to give credit where it was due. “You were pretty good with the map,” I said, aiming for nonchalant. I wasn’t goin’ for friendly, but at least we were talking again. I turned the map over and scribbled out a quick note to leave in the Jeep, should someone come across it or if we didn’t come back. At least the cops’d be able to tell the coroner our cause of death was stupidity.

Gone into mangroves on foot. Two men sat phone and water. One day at most.

I shoved it on the dash, then remembered to add the date at the bottom.

Realising Jeremiah hadn’t replied, I looked over to see what he was doing... to find him emptying out my bag and adding his gear to it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He looked up, confused. “I’m taking as much as I can carry.”

“That’s my bag.”

“Yes. I’m aware.”

I got out and walked around to his side, grabbing his hand on my bag. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

His steely blue eyes met mine. “I was simply being efficient.”

We were standing close, eye to eye. Well, he was a few inches taller than me, but still. My grip on his hand tightened. “You shoulda asked.”

His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. I would’ve found that hot if he didn’t piss me off so much. Hell, maybe he was hotbecausehe pissed me off so much. He yanked his hand away. “Forget it. I’ll carry it in the crate.”

He leaned over to pull the crate closer, but I finished shoving his gear into my bag. “All you hadta do was ask,” I said as I shoved in the spinning thing from the top of his auto-station. He’d dumped the first aid kit out of my bag so I picked it up. “And where the hell are ya goin’ without this?”

“I was going to put it on top.”

He absolutely was not.

I picked up the can of spray paint he’d ditched and glared at him.

Christ almighty.

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