Although she wasn’t hungry, Marissa forced herself to eat some breakfast before setting out for the car rental office.
As she walked down the street in Charleville, Marissa had the feeling she was in a time warp and was back in a Midwestern town in the United States fifty years previously. The quaint Victorian character that she’d expected to see in Brisbane was evident in some of the homes and office buildings. The air was clear and bright, and the streets were free of litter. And the early morning sun was hot enough to suggest what its noontime power would be.
At the car rental office in the Shell station, Marissa rented a Ford Falcon. She asked for a map, but the attendant didn’t have one to offer.
“Where are you planning to go?” he asked in a slow Queenslander drawl.
Windorah,” Marissa said.
The man looked at her as if she were crazy.
“What on earth for?” he asked.
“Do you know how far it is to Windorah?”
“Not exactly,” Marissa admitted.
“It’s over two hundred miles,” the agent said.
“Two hundred miles of nothing but wallabies, koos, and lizards. Probably take you eight to ten hours. Better fill up that reserve tank in the trunk. There’s also one for water. Fill that up just to be sure.”
“What’s the road like?” Marissa asked.
“Calling it a road is being generous,” the agent said.
“There’s a sealed strip, but there’ll be a lot of bull dust Not much rain this season. Why don’t you give me a ring tomorrow from Windorah?
If I don’t hear from you I’ll let the police know. There’s not much traffic out there.”
“Thank you,” Marissa said.
“I’ll do that.”
Marissa drove the car back to her room. She found it awkward driving on the left. Once she was there she had the proprietor ring up the Royal Flying Doctor Service for her. She made sure there hadn’t been any emergencies to interrupt Tristan Williams’ schedule.
After filling her reserve gas and water tanks, Marissa drove straight through Charleville and picked up the road to Windorah.
As the agent had said, near the outskirts of town the paved road suddenly narrowed to a single lane.
At first Marissa somewhat enjoyed herself. The sun was behind her and not in her eyes, although she knew that would change as the day wore on. The solitude of the land was a good balm for her raw emotions.
The road was a sandy orange color and it sliced across the channel country, an arid, desertlike expanse of space cut by curious, narrow-ribbed valleys or arroyos that carried away the meager rainwater in the rainy season. Birds were everywhere, taking flight as she bore down on them. She even began to see the fauna that the agent had mentioned. Occasionally she passed a water hole ablaze with the color of hibiscus.
Despite the dramatic scenery, monotony soon set in. As the miles passed, Marissa began to be relieved that the car rental agent had agreed she would call when she got to Windorah.
Marissa had never traveled through a more desolate area in her life; the idea of the car breaking down was truly frightening.
The driving wasn’t easy, either. The rough road meant she had to struggle with the steering wheel. The dust billowing in her wake eventually started to work its way into the car, covering everything with a fine layer.
By noon she was sure the temperature had climbed well over a hundred degrees. The beat created the illusion of rolling undulations.
There were other natural distractions as well; later in the afternoon she had to slam on the brakes, coming to a sliding stop to allow a pack of wild boar to continue to cross the road.
At a little past eight in the evening, after eleven hours of driving, Marissa began to see meager signs of civilization.
Twenty minutes later she pulled into Windorah. She was glad to be there, although the town was hardly a scenic oasis.
At the center of town stood a one-story green, clapboard pub cum hotel with a wooden veranda. A sign proclaimed it as the Western Star Hotel. Across the road from the Western Star was a general store. A little farther down the way was a gas station that looked like it was circa 1930.