The sun was setting in a nest of purple clouds when Matt pulled up at the bed and breakfast attached to Mrs Murphy’s tearooms. Sarah was waiting out the front, clad in a tight black dress with a chain around her hips, holding a document wallet. Matt pulled over, disconcerted by how glamorous she looked. He was dressed in his ranger’s uniform. She was dressed for a date.
‘Hop in.’
‘Whatever have you done to your face?’ she asked.
‘I told you I was accident-prone.’ He drove past the local hotel and took the road to Nandena. There might be a band playing there tonight. Ha, who was he kidding? He didn’t want to be seen with Sarah in town, not looking the way she did.
The road ran between plantations of pine, which clung to the slopes and valleys like a dark fog. Ahead, a wombat lay slumped on the verge. Matt pulled over, checked its pouch and dragged the dead marsupial into the scrub. ‘You have to get them off the roads,’ he said. ‘They attract devils.’ A few minutes later it was a possum. Next was a young pademelon, with a flattened black corpse beside it. Matt swore, bagged the remains of the devil, and hurled the wallaby into the bushes. ‘See what I mean?’
‘Ew,’ said Sarah. There was now a ripe odour in the jeep.
‘You’re lucky I don’t take them all back to put in Binburra’s freezer. That’s what I usually do.’
Sarah screwed up her nose. Opening her document wallet as he drove, she pulled out some papers. ‘Matt, this really can’t wait,’ she said. ‘I’ve identified a genetically different population of devils, and – guess where? In the Tuggerah Valley.’
‘Different how?’
‘Different in the best possible way. In their major histocompatibility complex genes – their MHC genes.’
Did she expect him to know what that meant?
‘MHC genes help the immune system to recognise and attack foreign cells. They’re what causes a patient’s body to reject a donor liver, for example. Most devils have MHC genes so similar to the cancer, that they can’t identify or fight their tumours. But I’ve found a population whose MHC genes are very different to DFTD cells.’
‘But you said local devils were close to immunological clones,’ said Matt.
‘I was wrong,’ said Sarah. ‘Thanks to Penny’s roadkill count project, I’m getting a lot more samples, widening my data base.’
A rabbit dashed across the road and Matt braked to avoid it. Sarah’s voice grew high with excitement. ‘I re-ran my tests. Devils with this different MHC genotype, I’ve named it MHC2, should be able to recognise the cancer and mount a defence against it.’
The significance of her words sank in. Sarah’s research might not only save the devils, but the Tuggerah as well. A critically endangered population of tumour-resistant devils could permanently halt all logging.
Matt pulled the jeep off the road, grabbed Sarah and kissed her. It was meant to be a congratulatory kiss on the cheek, but she turned her head and their lips met. ‘You’re a genius,’ he said, and he meant it. This was by far the biggest breakthrough they’d had. If Binburra could breed up these special devils? If their MHC2 genes were dominant and prevailed in their offspring? The possibilities were too marvellous to think about.
Sarah was still talking, but Matt was no longer listening. He was imagining the joy on Penny’s face when he told her the news. He should have asked her to come along tonight, but he’d been mad at her – again. A sudden flash of insight told him he was blaming the wrong person. His father was the culprit. Fraser had lured Penny into visiting him at Canterbury Downs. He’d encouraged her to bring him specimens from Binburra, behind Matt’s back. He’d told Penny about the way down to the valley, when, as lifelong protector of Binburra, that information belonged to Matt by right. Fraser was deliberately causing trouble. Well, no more. Matt would put his marriage back together, and Sarah’s breakthrough could be the catalyst for doing it.
‘I need to do more testing, that’s the main thing,’ Sarah was saying. ‘Almost twenty-five percent of Tuggerah devils tested so far have the MHC2 genotype. Penny’s frozen samples are next. I can’t wait to get started.’
‘Of course, of course. Whatever you want.’ Matt hugged her, laughing, overcome with excitement. For one glorious moment his worries evaporated. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’re celebrating.’
The Top Pub at Nandena was a historic two-storey Georgian building with a graceful twin-gabled roof line.
‘How gorgeous,’ said Sarah, admiring the hotel’s sandstone Regency façade.
Matt hopped out and opened Sarah’s door for her. ‘This place was built by convicts in 1840,’ he said. ‘Martin Cash, Tasmania’s own Robin Hood, among them.’
They took seats at the bar, Sarah still clutching her document wallet. She unzipped it, zipped it back up again and put it down. ‘Tell me about Martin Cash,’ she said, pouring them both a glass of water.
Matt stretched his arms over his head, feeling happier and more relaxed than he could remember. ‘Cash was an Irish hothead. Women loved him, but they were his downfall, all of his life.’
‘Ooh,’ said Sarah. ‘Do tell.’
Matt rearranged his long legs. ‘Cash was only eighteen years old when he looked through a Dublin hotel window and saw someone hitting on his girlfriend. The two men got into a fight. Cash shot the other bloke and was sentenced to seven years’ transportation here to Van Diemen’s Land. But no jail could hold him. Cash even broke out of Port Arthur, and that was some achievement. Completely escape-proof, they reckoned, like Alcatraz. Armed sentries everywhere. Only connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of land – Eaglehawk Neck – and a line of savage, starving dogs chained across it. Convicts believed the water both sides was infested with sharks.’ Matt sipped his beer. ‘Cash didn’t care. He tied his clothes round his neck in a bundle and swam for it. Got clean away, first man ever. Lost his clothes though. Did his first hold-up starkers.’
‘Naked?’
‘As the day he was born.’ Matt was enjoying himself. ‘Nicknamed Cash and Co, him and a couple of mates had short but spectacular careers as bushrangers.’ Matt leaned forward in his chair. ‘Dodged five hundred constables and soldiers sent to bring them in. Survived six shoot-outs, escaped dozens of traps, outwitted everybody. They only robbed the rich – squatters, hotels, mail coaches – and they left the poor alone, didn’t rape or shoot people. The gentleman bushranger, that’s what they called Cash. Quite the gallant.’
‘Did they ever catch him?’
‘Betrayed by the woman he loved, so the story goes.’ Matt picked up the menu. ‘Do you want to order yet?’
Sarah slapped his arm playfully. ‘Finish the story.’
‘In 1843 word reached Cash that his girlfriend, Bessie Clifford, was having an affair with a man called Joe Pratt in Hobart. Cash was on his way into town to kill Joe, when Bessie found out and tipped off the police. There was a shoot-out. Cash fatally wounded a young constable before he was captured. But – get this – he’s such a legend, the press mounted a campaign to pardon him. Loads of Cash’s victims interceded on his behalf. The court sentenced him to death anyway.’
Sarah was sitting forward too. She licked a drop of water from her lip. ‘Did he die bravely?’
Matt grinned. ‘The slippery bastard won a reprieve an hour before he was due to hang. They transported him to Norfolk Island where he became a model prisoner, won a pardon and headed straight back to Tasmania. Cash married, bought a farm and died in bed.’
She laughed. ‘Are you sure it happened like that?’
‘As God is my witness.’
While they waited for their meals, Matt led Sarah out the back to see the hotel’s historic stone wishing well. ‘It’s over a hundred and fifty years old.’
Sarah looked unimpressed. ‘Yours is such a young country. You don’t have anything really old here. Well, you don’t,’ she said, at Matt’s amused smile. ‘You can’t. You haven’t been here long enough.’
Matt tossed a coin into the well and wished that his falcons, Sooty and Sweep, had found their way in the wild.
‘Go on then, name something,’ she said. ‘Name something really old.’
‘The forest,’ he said, without turning around. ‘The rivers. That rock art I showed you. Our Indigenous culture.’ Matt thought of the carved stone steps at Tiger Pass. How old were they?
Sarah blushed through her tan. ‘Sorry, I was thinking small.’
‘Most people are.’ Matt tossed in another coin. ‘What do you know about wishing wells?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Copper or silver coins stopped the water going sour ‒ that’s the practical explanation. But the idea that wishes would be granted came from believing that tiny gods lived down wells. It’s a form of ancient pagan sacrifice.’
Sarah leaned against the well close beside him, and tossed in a coin. ‘I wish …’
‘Shh … it won’t come true if you tell.’
A sudden screech from a nearby tree sent Sarah rocketing into his arms. For a moment he held her, smelled her sweet perfume, felt the warmth of her body and her willingness for something more.
‘Just a masked owl.’ He stepped back and glanced inside. ‘Our meals are ready.’
They were both quiet during dinner. It wasn’t until the tiramisu that Sarah said, ‘I heard that Penny moved out.’
Matt twisted a paper serviette. He toyed with his beer and watched the band set up on stage. He wasn’t enjoying himself anymore. The pub was filling up, and the blonde girl on stage with her back to him looked familiar. Of course, it was Lisa.
‘G’day Matthew … Doctor.’ Drake peered over Sarah’s shoulder. Just what Matt didn’t need. The evening was bound to get back to Penny now. ‘Mind if I join you?’
Matt sighed. ‘Suit yourself.’ He felt a sudden urge to get away.
Drake slid his chair in beside Sarah and began a low conversation, too low for Matt to hear, now that the band was tuning up. Sarah laughed and nodded, eyes smiling at some joke. Tawny eyes, with a hint of green, like ripe hazelnuts.
Lisa and the band launched into their first number.
When Drake left to order drinks, Matt put his hand on Sarah’s arm. ‘Sorry to be a party pooper, but I’m off,’ he said. ‘Drake will give you a lift back.’
‘But why? The music’s just started.’
‘I might not have shut the laundry door at home. I’d hate Hedwig to get in with the baby bandicoots.’
Sarah thought for a moment, then picked up her bag. ‘I’ll come with you. There are some research notes I want to pick up from Binburra anyway.’
‘I’d love a drink,’ said Sarah, as they walked inside. ‘And can we put on some music? I haven’t finished celebrating.’
‘My iPod doesn’t work.’
‘Don’t you have Spotify? Never mind. Let’s be old-fashioned.’ Sarah began rifling through a shelf of dusty CDs. Soon Sade’s smooth sound filled the house.
Matt cracked a bottle of champagne he found in the fridge. When he read the label, he put it back with a stopper. Non-alcoholic. Where had that come from? He opened a bottle of red wine instead and poured them both a glass. ‘I’d better look in on the babies.’ Sarah trailed after him, sipping her drink. He moved about, checking on the wallaby joeys and the bats and the bandicoots. A family of half-grown quolls, who regarded night-time as playtime, escaped from their pen in the corner and darted about the laundry.
‘That’s the second time they’ve done that,’ he said. ‘There must be something wrong with the latch.’
‘How adorable,’ said Sarah, as Matt retrieved a wayward youngster from his head. She lifted the lid of a freezer. ‘Are there devils in here?’
‘I don’t know.’ Matt snatched a quoll from the curtain. ‘See for yourself if you want.’
Sarah put down her glass and started sorting through the carcasses. A wide variety of plastic-wrapped, frozen Tasmanian wildlife soon littered the floor, from giant freshwater crayfish to hairless wombat joeys.
‘I can’t find the devils.’
Matt put away the last quoll and frowned. What a mess. Did she have to be so careless with Penny’s animals? ‘Come on. I’ll help you pack this up.’ There was an edge to his voice. He was tired, that was all, and his arm throbbed where he’d twisted it in the descent. It wasn’t fair to take it out on Sarah.
Some fresh air would help. He took the bottle of wine and some cheese out to the verandah, poured their drinks and watched a bushfire moon break free of the distant mountain. Stars pricked through the roof of the sky.
‘What an enchanting evening.’ Sarah’s face was in shadow, but he could feel her eyes upon him. ‘Isn’t starlight romantic?’ Her voice was low and silky.
Was she coming onto him? Matt was clueless about women other than Penny. And given the state of their marriage, it turned out he was pretty clueless about her too. He moved his chair to better see Sarah’s eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her back to Binburra.
But his disquiet evaporated when Sarah began talking about her work. She positively shone with passion for it. ‘Genetic tagging is the key to protecting endangered species,’ she said. ‘Imagine tracking your devils by their DNA signatures instead of by ear tags and microchips and electronic collars. You’d hugely reduce your own workload. Reduce the stress caused to the animals from handling them. All you’d need is a sample of hair, scat or saliva.’
‘Have there been field trials?’
‘Absolutely, from humpback whales to grizzly bears. It’s early days, of course, but genetic tagging is the future of conservation.’
Matt was riveted. With Sarah’s help, Binburra would stand on the cutting edge of devil research. They opened another bottle of red and moved onto theories of wildlife management. Sarah held a pragmatic view, believing that animals should be intensely managed, and individuals sacrificed to science if needed for the good of the population as a whole.
‘You do whatever you must to protect a species, right?’
Matt remembered Winston, Penny’s resistant devil that had been injected with different strains of cancer cells until he finally succumbed; remembered his suffering. ‘A species is more than a biological construct,’ said Matt. ‘It’s a collection of feeling individuals, who are entitled to enjoy their one and only life on this earth without human interference. I say leave them alone.’
‘But your job involves actively managing this park.’
‘Does it?’
‘So, that’s why you didn’t make a report about the rare orchid.’
He grinned. Sarah rolled her eyes and the debate continued.
It was after midnight when Sarah yawned. Matt yawned too. ‘Time I took you home.’
‘After all those drinks?’ she said. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘You’re right.’ He stretched his legs, stood up and started collecting plates and glasses. ‘I’ll sleep on the couch.’
‘No need.’ When he looked up, Sarah had slipped out of her little black dress. She stood before him, naked apart from lacy red briefs. Her slim body was toned and olive-skinned, with small, high breasts like a girl’s.
He took a step backwards. ‘Now look …’
A loud crash came from inside the house, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Matt swore and went to investigate. A series of thumps and screeches were coming from the lounge room. Hedwig was flapping from bookshelf to dresser to table, pursued by a posse of fugitive quolls. A lamp lay smashed on the floor. Only Matt’s quick reflexes rescued rows of glass photo frames from the same fate. He fetched a net from the laundry and set about recapturing the absconders. Half an hour later, when he’d finally caught them all, the lounge looked like a bombsite. Overturned chairs, broken glass, furniture pulled away from the wall. Matt replaced the tired youngsters in their pen, complete with a bonus supper of rabbit, and set about cleaning the room.
He kept a close eye on the door, expecting a naked Sarah to come stalking in any moment, but there was no sign of her. It was one o’clock by the time he’d finished. He made a cup of coffee, mainly to delay dealing with Sarah, then crept into the hall. Where was she? He peeked into the bedroom.
Sarah lay on the bed, hugging a pillow – fast asleep. What a relief. Matt fetched a spare blanket, took off his shirt and lay down on the couch, his mind racing. Thank goodness Penny hadn’t arrived in the middle of Sarah’s little striptease. Matt tossed and turned on the too-short couch trying to get comfortable. He yawned again, his eyes grew heavy and sleep claimed him in the middle of a thought.
Matt woke sometime later in a sweat, and with a sense that something was terribly wrong. He got up, groggy with sleep, and moved through the quiet house, searching for whatever had disturbed him.
Somewhere outside a motor started up and wheels crunched on gravel. A jeep flew past the moonlit window. What on earth? A swift check of the bedroom revealed that Sarah had gone. Matt sprinted to the verandah and peered into the night. A light shone in the old shearing shed and a sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach.
Matt took the verandah steps in one, long stride and ran barefoot to the open shed door. Sleepy raptors shuffled feathers, restless in the light. At first glance all appeared normal and he allowed himself some hope. But when he lifted the lid of the new freezer, his hope vanished. Carcasses piled higgledy-piggledy. He hadn’t left them in such a jumble. Dreading what he might find, Matt turfed out the bodies in a frantic search. ‘No!’ he roared. Theo was gone.
Matt ran back to the house, trying to make sense of what had happened. Decide. He needed to decide right now what to do. The clock on the wall said five o’clock. He still had time before the park opened. Okay. Shoes. Car keys? Dammit. Sarah had his jeep keys, which meant she also had the office keys, and keys to the other park vehicles were kept in the locked office. He searched the bedside table draw. Bingo, his bike key.
He’d bought the Enduro last month. A beautiful bike, 654 cc, six gears. Smooth-as-silk clutch, as at home on the highway as in the bush, and a steal at the price, even with its dodgy brakes. The front one made a sickening grinding noise and caused the bike to veer alarmingly to one side. The rear brake felt spongy and offered little resistance. He’d tinkered with it, but not fixed it. Too late now. Matt wheeled out the bike and prayed for a quick start. The machine roared to life and he sped off down the drive.
Matt hadn’t ridden the bike at night before. It was more disconcerting than he’d imagined, hurtling through the dark, uncertain which way the road turned, despite knowing it so well. The darkness confused him, disguised tight corners, left him unsure of how to lean. His high beam provided just a narrow tunnel of light, and the screaming brakes aimed him at trees – more dangerous than no brakes at all. A combination of gear shifts and sheer dumb luck kept him on the track. Sarah couldn’t be far ahead. She was bound to be slow in an unfamiliar vehicle on these rough roads.
Matt raced on, body thrust forward, hand heavy on the throttle. He owed Theo this much. If anyone would decide the dead tiger’s fate, it would be him. Where the heck was Sarah anyway? It wasn’t until the road left the forest and approached town that he spotted tail-lights up ahead. Matt honked the horn and increased his speed. She must have noticed him, but the jeep showed no signs of slowing.
Matt rounded the next turn, eased on the rear brake and timed his acceleration just right. Only a few metres behind her now. They tore into town, towards a concrete roundabout with a lamp post in the middle. Matt took a deep breath and shot around on the wrong side of the road, diving in ahead of the jeep as it exited the intersection. Sarah slammed on the brakes. Her front bumper collected the rear of his bike, threatening to drag it under the chassis. He spun sideways – no helmet, not even a shirt. This wouldn’t be pretty. Matt leapt from the saddle, jumped the handlebars and rolled as he crashed to the ground.
He lay winded, feeling as if he’d been skinned. When he could breathe again, he drew in great lungfuls of air that stank of burning brake pads. Matt looked back at the jeep, half-expecting it to be gone. There was no telling with Sarah, he knew that now. But the jeep was still there with the driver’s door wide open. Suddenly Sarah was there too, kneeling beside him.
‘Are you okay? I could have killed you.’
Matt hauled himself to his feet, with wobbly legs and a painful shoulder. It hurt to breathe.
‘Where is he?’ said Matt, surprised he could speak.
Sarah pointed to the jeep. Matt staggered over and checked the back. Theo was there alright. He snatched the keys from the ignition.
‘What will you do?’ he asked.
‘I’ll ask the questions, that’s what I’ll do,’ said Sarah. ‘First one. Whatever possessed you to hide this?’
Matt licked his split lip. How on earth was he going to silence Sarah? He hunted for a strategy that didn’t involve throttling her on the spot. ‘Get in,’ he said.
A faint brightness tinged the sky. They sat in the jeep, eyeing each other in the pre-dawn light.
‘Don’t ask me to keep this secret,’ said Sarah. ‘Don’t ask me that.’
‘What will it take?’
‘We should be shouting this from the rooftops. The entire world will sit up and take notice.’
‘Exactly. There’s the problem.’
Sarah’s voice hardened. ‘You have no right, Matt, to play God like this.’
‘Me play God?’ His temple throbbed and he checked the impulse to scream each word. ‘I won’t be the one pulling Theo apart, molecule by molecule. I won’t create squirming, suffering, not-quite-right copies of him for science. I won’t hunt down his family to turn them into a freak show. That’ll be your job. Whose side do you reckon Theo would be on?’
Sarah slapped him, hard. Good, he was getting to her. ‘Haven’t you ever questioned what you do?’ he asked. ‘The ethics of what you bloody do? Have you even thought about it?’
‘I want to help these animals however I can.’
Matt reached for her hand. ‘Devils, yes. Devils still have a place, a chance. But you can’t help these last few tigers. They’ll be inbred, right?’
‘Severely so. We’ve completed DNA hair analysis on every museum hide we could find. Even prior to 1900, tigers had hit a genetic bottleneck – practically no diversity at all.’
‘Then what chance do they have of being anything besides short-lived curiosities? Of surviving long-term outside zoos and molecular biology labs?’
‘Matt … they’re already surviving outside zoos. Your animal is proof of that, and with it as a genetic template …’
‘Theo. His name is Theo.’
‘All right,’ said Sarah. ‘With Theo as a genetic template, we have a real shot at cloning him.’
Matt snorted. ‘Great idea. Why bust our guts protecting anything if we can just clone it back into existence? The Premier will love that.’
The dawn was bright enough now to show him Sarah’s frown. ‘You’re saying the government could use my work as an excuse to abandon threatened species.’
‘In the mistaken belief that they can be resurrected by science whenever it suits them. Yes. Show them a rathole and they’ll run down it.’
For the first time, Matt saw Sarah’s resolve falter. On an impulse he leaned across and kissed her. ‘Give me some space, Sarah. Please.’
She opened her eyes and breathed. ‘Maybe we do need time to think this through, to be strategic with our announcement – but I won’t sit on it for long.’
Matt was dizzy with relief.
Sarah touched his grazed cheek. ‘Telling the world is the right thing.’
He forced a smile. ‘Neither of us have had much sleep. I’ll take you home.’
‘Put on a shirt first,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind, but Mrs Murphy might.’
Matt found a windcheater in the back and pulled it on. A few cars were already on the road. He dropped Sarah off outside the tearoom in the full light of a Hills End morning. Doris Briggs nodded to him as she went past. Of all the rotten luck. Who knew why she was out and about this early?
‘Promise me.’ Matt held Sarah’s shoulders with an intensity that seemed to send old Doris into a flutter. ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone, not yet.’
‘I promise.’ Sarah kissed him goodbye on the lips, slow and lingering. ‘From now on we’re in this together.’
Doris flew as fast as her walking frame would allow to take the news to town.