“What is this place?”
Smithy stomped up the wooden steps, and the screen door shrieked as he held it open. “It’s a pub. Can tell you’re not from around here.”
Splinters caught Andy’s hot palms as he reached for the handrail. The glorious shade swept over him, and a blast of cool air wrapped him in its embrace. Andy walked into a wall of laughs and music. The pub was full, some people leaning against the bar, others standing around high tables laughing as they raised their glasses. Posters plastered the walls—frosty beer glasses and wide smiles. Framed photographs of great sporting moments—horses midstride at the finish line, footballers seated on the shoulders of cheering teammates, a gold medal pressed to an athlete’s puckered lips.
Along the ceiling a line of flags fluttered in the cool, crisp air, leading to the far corner where a chunky box of a television played grainy music videos, its picture flickering under hazy snow. Beneath it, a group of men in checked shirts and wide-brimmed hats flipped coins into the air and thrust cash at each other. Floating over the music and noise, a heady aroma of food wafted toward him.
Smithy elbowed his way through the crowd and leaned against the bar. “A drink for my friend and I, and something to eat, please.”
A thick-set barman, coils of steel-wool gray bursting from the top of his T-shirt, waddled toward them. He splayed chunky fingers on the countertop like a sprinter awaiting the starter’s pistol as he towered over Smithy. “What will you have?”
Smithy pulled out a battered leather wallet. “I’m down to my last twenty, so what will that get me and my friend?”
The barman glanced at the chalk-scrawled menu board leaning against shelves of bottles and glasses, below a series of hats nailed to the wall in a neat line. “We’ll see what we can do. Grab a seat.” He snatched the orange note from Smithy’s wallet and reached for a glass.
Andy slipped alongside Smithy, his body temperature resuming normal transmission. Unexplainable or not, he would rather be here than staggering around in the sun. A tanned, sinewy man in a blue-, red-, and yellow-striped sweater slopped amber liquid from two glasses held high as he maneuvered around Andy. “Coming through, mate.”
A barmaid in a tied-off checked shirt ushered them to a table as a familiar song drifted across the bar from a jukebox against the far wall. Andy chuckled. Even an American could recognize the jaunty flute line of Men At Work’s “Down Under.” The barmaid placed two cardboard coasters in front of them and a basket cradling two tiny bread rolls topped with the smallest slivers of butter. “Hop in.”
Smithy yawned hard. “Andy, you’re lucky I found you when I did. How did you get out here?”
Where had all these people come from? Sweaty T-shirts and long shorts, light dresses pasted onto thin frames with sweat. A loud cheer burst from the corner as money changed hands and two copper coins were again flung into the air by a man in a large brown hat holding a large wooden paddle. “Two heads. Come in spinner!”
Andy smeared butter onto a roll and jammed it whole into his mouth. His body flooded with the crunch of crust and the sweetness of dairy. In seconds the roll was gone.
The savory, heavy aroma of deep frying assaulted Andy. The sweetness of bubbling sauces. His stomach joined the conversation with a low grumble, and he turned to Smithy. “I would have faded away without your help.”
“I think you’re going to need my help beyond whatever that barmaid brings back.”
Another cheer burst from the corner. Fists full of purple, blue, and orange notes and two tiny coins glinted in sunlight streaming through the window. “Two tails. Come in spinner!” A hypnotic blur of copper streaks. The tiniest craving awoke in the base of his brain and it had nothing to do with the food.
Across the table his new friend’s brow furrowed. “I would advise against that.”
Her tray held high, the barmaid pushed through the crowd. She put down two tall, frosty glasses of clear, bubbling liquid, condensation running down their sides. Andy sighed as the ice clinked in the glass and raised it to his lips. It was sweet, with a light, bitter fizz, and the first mouthful slid down his throat.
The barmaid placed a tiny plate in front of each of them containing a small pie, no bigger than Andy’s fist. “Gentlemen, this is what twenty bucks gets you.” She winked at Andy.
Andy picked up the pastry and breathed deep, savoring the smell. In two bites it was gone.
Another glint from the corner. “Two tails!” Fistfuls of cash were again exchanged. The coins were flung into the air by the man in the wide brown hat, but Andy was no longer interested in him or his coins. His eyes were on the cash, and his mind turned over ways he could get some.
* * *
The squeaking skid of Lincoln’s running shoes echoed through the stationmaster’s office after his fruitless search for a key found more questions than answers. And Alinta was gone.
Had she really been here? “Alinta?”
“Yes?” Sweetness floated from the waiting room.
Lincoln sprinted toward her voice. She sat quietly on cracked leather, ruby-red nail polish punctuating her neatly folded hands. He was assaulted by a heady cloud of perfume—an intoxicating mix of blossom and earth. The tiniest crow’s-feet creasing the corners of her eyes held a knowing look—he could not even guess at her age. She seemed outside of time.
Her smile lit up the room. “Thanks for letting me in. It must have been hard.”
Lincoln thrust his hands into his pockets. This woman was enchanting, but he had so many questions. “You have to believe me. I tried everything to open the door but then it just did. There’s a desk drawer I thought contained the key, but I didn’t need it.”
A light laugh escaped Alinta’s shining lips. “Well, I did ask you to let me in. Maybe that was the key.”
A revelation arrived and Lincoln snapped his fingers. He had seen her at the airport and now she was here, in the middle of nowhere. This strange place where he’d woken. If Outback Tours was behind this, surely she was part of the game. And if he was going to play along, she would be a beautiful woman to play along with. “Do you have something for me?”
Alinta arched an alluring eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”
A familiar flutter batted inside his gut. He needed to play the game first. “I guess you need me to ask the right questions.”
She patted down the creases from her dress. “Who would lock you in here?”
Rusty hinges whined as he flicked down the seat of the chair and sat next to her. He couldn’t blame Outback Tours. He’d opened the door to let her in, but she held the key to him getting back. “It had to be my friends.”
Alinta smiled enticingly. Her sweet, enchanting voice was like none Lincoln had ever heard before. “Some friends. Tell me about them.”
“Well, the four of us graduated together fifteen years ago, and we decided to take this trip as a reunion of sorts. It’s been great catching up with old friends.”
Alinta studied him. “Has it?” As if sensing his discomfort she reached into her suitcase and withdrew a sandwich. “Would you like something to eat?”
Lincoln ripped away the plastic, the soft bread and tang of tomato heaven to his taste buds. This beautiful woman was playing her role well. He was sure she would give him the information he needed—the next step in this survival game he’d be thrust into—but a longer game could be played here. This wasn’t about getting back to the campsite. If she was a bit player with Outback Tours, he could pick up this conversation around the campfire once they were all back. And, with a bit of luck, maybe the next part of his story included her.