Mack jogged back to the main track following the sound, which seemed to be coming from a stand of bushes to the left of the path where a second track speared into the scrub. As she drew near, she saw that the track was blocked by a gate, similar to the one they’d come through at the other end of the town and affixed with a faded sign:
FIRE TRACK!
PARK AND EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY.
KEEP GATE CLOSED.
Except this gate was open.
The sound she’d heard was the whine of its hinges as it moved in the breeze. Her heart stumbled with relief and she checked the map. The fire track ran behind their lodge, following the old single-track railway the miners had used to transport the quarried gypsum to Port Rawson, and cutting an alternate route back to the park’s main road. There was also a yellow plastic trail marker nailed to the gatepost, and Mack figured the track must be used by hikers exploring the park on foot. Careless hikers who ignored signs about keeping gates closed. Sure enough, she spotted a dark-clad figure a hundred metres or so up the track, heading away from the town. Their features were blurry and distorted by the heat shimmer, but from their size and gait, she guessed it was a man.
‘Oi!’ she yelled, before she could stop herself. ‘You left the gate open!’
The figure stopped and turned. Definitely a man…
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