Taj dragged the mangled carcass through the gate and escaped before the dingoes had a chance to greet him. They turned their attention to the fresh kill, yelping in excitement, licking and tearing at the bloodstained fur.
‘Poor thing,’ said Kim.
The truck in front of her had hit the wallaby on Bangalow Road the night before, and hadn’t even stopped. The animal was still jerking and trembling when she got out to help, and found a baby in its pouch. She’d taken the joey straight to Mel. Then she’d dragged the mother’s bloody body to the side of the road for Taj to collect in the morning. Life here was a far cry from suburban Sydney. Simpler, yes, but also tough and uncompromising – even brutal at times. The wallaby’s death had not been entirely in vain. Wallabies, wild goats, roos and rabbits were the only food the dingoes were allowed to eat.
The pack had been living in the acclimation pen for more than a month now. Taj, with Kim’s help, had fenced off fifty square metres of land high on the remote northern boundary of Journey’s End. Each day Kim dropped the kids at school, and by the time she got home, Taj would be waiting for her, his battered ute piled high with tools and materials. It had been a steep learning curve, but by the time they’d strained and stapled the last section of mesh, Kim was a pretty handy fencer. She could wield a post-hole digger and strain wire with the best.
She’d also learned a bit more about Taj. Her desire to talk to him about Afghanistan was matched by his reticence on the subject, but he’d let some things slip. Intriguing snippets about his former life in Nuristan, meaning land of light. Like the fact that he’d once run a junior ranger program for school children, teaching them about the importance of wilderness. And that he too had reason to hate the Taliban, although he wouldn’t tell her what it was. This admission came as a relief. Connor’s death was never far away, and Taj’s silence had fuelled her own fears about where his loyalty might lie.
He had experience with carnivore release projects. Not with dingoes, but with wolves in Nuristan. Abbey was right. Taj had raised a group of orphaned cubs, held them in an acclimation pen for several months, and then successfully reintroduced the pack into the wild.
‘Okay, so you’re a wolf-whisperer,’ said Kim. ‘But how do you know your talents will stretch to dingoes?’
‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘But wolves and dingoes are both keystone predators, they fill the same niche. There’s a good chance they’ll react in the same way. Dingoes are smaller, though, so we won’t have to build this fence so high.’
Even so, the enclosure stood three metres tall, with a ground apron to prevent digging and an inverted top to prevent climbing. It contained a permanent spring and rocky outcrops to serve as potential den sites.
Taj laced lamb carcasses with the nausea-inducing chemical thiabendazole, and put them in the pen. ‘It’s the same concept biologists use to teach quolls not to eat cane toads,’ he said. ‘I trialled it back in Afghanistan to help keep the wolves away from flocks. If predators eat a certain type of animal and get sick a few times, they stop seeing that species as prey. They even teach their young to avoid it.’
Kim had been dubious about this theory, but it seemed to be working. The last sheep he’d given to the dingoes hadn’t been touched. After a few days, she’d insisted he remove the stinking, flyblown body from the corner of the pen. If only she could tell Mel how hard they were trying to keep her sheep safe. But on this point she and Taj were in firm agreement – the dingo project must remain secret, at least for now.
They only visited the pack twice a week to provide a feed of rabbits, goats or roadkill. Keeping human contact to a minimum was difficult for Kim. She hated ignoring the friendly animals. But the dingoes were already wilder, less interested in their human jailers, more attuned to their environment.
‘It’s called a soft release,’ said Taj. ‘Slowly getting the dingoes used to their new surroundings, and less reliant on us. Hopefully it will also reset their homing instinct, so they won’t head straight back to my place.’
‘What happens when we let them go?’
‘We’ll open the gate, and walk away. The rest is up to the dingoes.’
That day had finally arrived, and this wallaby carcass would be their last offering to the pack.
‘Do you want to do the honours?’ Taj asked.
Kim gave him a sarcastic smile. ‘You just want me to take the blame when this goes horribly wrong.’ She was only half joking. Now the moment of release had arrived, her courage was failing.
Taj must have sensed her misgivings. ‘Think of these dingoes as the guardians of Journey’s End. Defending the forest, just as my maremmas defend Mel’s flocks. They can’t protect anything if we keep them locked up.’
A hush fell on the bush. Kim stared at Taj, couldn’t look away. She could feel the throb of anticipation in his veins, and her body pulsed in time with his. One by one, the feeding dingoes stopped their meal and turned to watch.
‘Now,’ said Taj. Kim opened the gate, and he laid his big hand on her shoulder. An undeniable charge passed between them. ‘Back in the car.’
The curious dingoes trotted to the open gate. They paused, puzzled. The two smallest ones, Dusty’s sisters, ventured outside the pen. With wagging tails they trotted to the ute and jumped up at the windows, seeking attention.
‘Ignore them,’ whispered Taj.
It was hard. Apart from their sandy colouring, they looked very much like Dusty – not like wild animals at all. She wanted to reassure them, tell them it was for the best, give them a final cuddle. But Taj laid a hand on her arm and pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Shh . . . don’t speak.’
Once again, Kim’s body betrayed her. She could see ink on skin through the open neck of his shirt. How would it feel to undo those buttons, one by one, and reveal the whole tattoo? She closed her eyes, wanting him to touch her again, wishing that she didn’t. His presence swelled, filling the cabin. Pushing everything else away.
Why was this happening? If Ben had caused her to respond like this, she might have accepted it. She might even have welcomed it, taking it as a sign that she was finally ready to move on. That her valiant efforts to let go of the past were working. But it hadn’t happened with Ben. In spite of his resemblance to Connor. In spite of his help with Jake, and his movie-star good looks and the way he made her laugh. It hadn’t happened during the nights they’d stayed up late playing cards, or watching television. Not even when they’d shared that drunken kiss on the verandah after the cricket final. Ben had made his feelings plain. He was the natural choice if she were to let herself love again. He was right for her and especially right for Jake. A familiar face. Caring and protective. A soft place to fall.
Taj, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity. A man of a faith she knew nothing about – a man disturbing in every way. A loner. From a different culture and the country that took Connor. And with, she could feel it, shadows in his past. Jake loathed him. Even Ben seemed to dislike Taj these days. His attitude had changed from one of friendliness – if somewhat patronising – to veiled hostility.
Taj touched her arm again and she lashed out, striking his chest with a sideways fist. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘Forgive me. I said your name, and thought you didn’t hear.’
Had Taj spoken? Was she so lost in tangled thinking that she didn’t hear? Taj subtly moved his body away from her. ‘I thought you might have wanted to say goodbye.’
‘Goodbye?’ Kim looked out the window. The pen was empty. She opened the door, hoping to give Dusty’s sisters a final hug in spite of Taj’s warning. They were gone too.
‘Will we see them again?’ Her mouth was dry, and thick with fear for them.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Catch them. Bring them back.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she got out of the car. ‘They might be shot, or poisoned.’ Her voice cracked. ‘They might starve.’
‘Kim —’
‘What’s wrong with you? Don’t you even care?’
This was why she hadn’t wanted another dog, why she hadn’t wanted Dusty. Why she didn’t want to get attached. She should never have agreed to this stupid plan in the first place, sending the young dingoes into who-knew-what kind of danger. Why hadn’t she insisted they stay with Taj? Why couldn’t she keep the things she loved safe?
Kim knelt down and sobbed, a wild, primal howling that didn’t sound like it came from her own throat. In the forest to the north, the dingoes answered, adding their voices to the song of despair. When Kim raised her swollen eyes, Taj was weeping too.