Death Message

Chapter Ten

When they reached the jeep, Backpack Bill politely removed his hat as Maggie made the introductions. Brad shook his hand and thought his own had been swallowed by a baseball glove. Bill was a behemoth man of about fifty, although it was hard to tell. He stood at least six foot six and had to weigh more than three hundred pounds. Backpack was powerfully built. Everything about him was large; his head, his chest, arms and hands, his waist, legs, and feet–his muscles, but most of all, his smile, and booming laugh. The latter two attributes dispel his frightening appearance and ominous stature that a similar-sized man might garner. In truth, he was a rather handsome bloke with a warm and sensitive look. Bill had a full head of short sandy colored hair, deeply tanned leather-textured skin, and rugged, but well-balanced facial features. Matching the color of Backpack's hair was an enormously bushy handlebar mustache straight out of the 1800s. In addition to the olive-drab bush hat, Bill was wearing well-worn but comfortable heavy-duty buckskin-colored hiking boots, a broad, large, buckled palomino brown belt on his dark khaki shorts, and a matching multi-pocketed short-sleeve safari shirt. Backpack was the real deal. He was Mr. Outback and embodied all the harshness, roughness, and ruggedness it represented. He made Crocodile Dundee look like Madison Avenue's poster boy for an Australian Boy Scout. The only thing that looked a bit out of place was the small cell phone attached to his belt. The phone was, in fact, rather large for current standards, but on Bill, it looked tiny.

"Are you all packed?" Bill asked, after introductions.

"All set," Brad stumbled, trying to think of how to address Backpack Bill. "Do you go by Bill or Backpack?"

"My friends call me Bill, but you can call me, Mr. Morgan," Bill responded rather harshly, then smiled his warm smile, and said, "Bill would be fine." Then, like a thunderclap, his laughter engulfed them.

Brad was initially taken aback by Mr. Morgan's comment but bounced back quickly when he realized that Backpack also possessed a dry, if not disarming sense of humor. The laugh from the big man was infectious.

"Well, let's not waste any more daylight," he said, clasping his hands together, and rubbing his palms. "Why don't you follow me? I'll be taking Stuart Highway south to the Devil's Marbles. We should be there in about an hour. By the way, did you bring warm clothing? It may be the summer where you come from, but it's the winter here. The days aren't bad, but the nights can be downright cold," Bill questioned, as he entered the door-less, open-top jeep.

"We brought insulated parkas," Brad replied.

"And long pants?" Bill said, looking at Brad's exposed legs.

"Yep. Sure did."

"Good, let's get going," Backpack said as he turned the engine over and spun around to face the exit. Brad and Maggie hopped into the Rover, fired it up, and pulled behind Bill.

The trip to the drop-off point took almost an hour. The scenery along the way was relatively nondescript. The expansive terrain was flat and arid in appearance until they reached the Devil's Marbles. There, enormous stones of granite were scattered and piled one on top of the other for miles. It was as though a giant hand had tossed thousands of boulders on the shallow valley floor. The bizarre scene was surreal. Looking at the landscape and thinking about the purpose of the trip, a bone-cutting chill rippled through Maggie's body, releasing through her shoulders. She shook so violently; that she startled Brad, who was pulling into a parking spot.

Brad stopped the Rover and turned toward Maggie, "Are you okay?" Maggie shivered again and wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth. "I'm fine," she said. "Just a little cold. This looks like the landscape from an alien world."