Book extract: The Hunted by Gabriel Bergmoser
The Hunted, by Gabriel Bergmoser, is one of the most-anticipated novels this year. In this exclusive two-part edited extract we meet Frank, an unlikely hero with no idea he is about to be thrust into an outback ordeal too terrifying to imagine.
The Hunted, by Gabriel Bergmoser, is one of the most-anticipated novels this year.
In this exclusive two-part edited extract we meet Frank, an unlikely hero with no idea he is about to be thrust into an outback ordeal too terrifying to imagine.
Read Part 2 tomorrow.
Frank stopped briefly on the porch, as he did every morning. His weatherboard house was small and on the wrong side of modest. All he could see was the gently swaying long brown grass, spanning the distance between where he stood and the dark, barely visible shape of the rear of the roadhouse, the highway just past it, and the vast sky beyond, alive with the first glow of dawn. He took a deep breath. The air was already hot.
It was just under a kilometre from his home to the roadhouse, a kilometre of dry grass and hard dirt rising and falling in erratic hills and surprise ditches. The roadhouse sat on a stretch of highway, the petrol pumps set back a good hundred metres from the bitumen. The nearest towns were hours away in either direction; Frank’s livelihood relied on the roadhouse being the only place you could stop for food or fuel in one of the more desolate parts of what counted as civilised Australia.
Nobody came out this way unless they had a bloody good reason.
The sun was up a little higher by the time Frank crossed the concrete stretch behind the roadhouse. He switched on the overhead light and brought the deep-fryer to life. The kitchen had a slightly unpleasant greasy smell to it, which Frank guessed wasn’t ideal but punters desperate enough to eat here didn’t seem to mind. He did his best to keep the place in half-decent nick, but he was under no illusions: nobody expected a middle-of-nowhere roadhouse like this to be especially inspiring.
He was almost surprised when, in the late afternoon, he heard the van pull up. After a few seconds a young couple came through the front door. The guy was tall and thin. The girl – short, slim and attractive, with brown hair – wore a baggy hemp shirt, Thai fisherman pants and sandals. The van wasn’t painted with rainbow swirls, but he figured they’d fix that oversight at the next town.
“Doesn’t work,” the girl said. Her accent was English.
Frank lowered the book. He didn’t reply.
 
“The pump,” the girl said. “Can you take a look?”
The girl was waiting, hands on hips and an expectant, impatient look on her face.
Frank stood. Hands in his pockets, he walked past them, taking his time. He opened the screen door and stepped out into the heat. The sun was high and the sky was the kind of bright blue that would be pretty if the heat didn’t make you feel like you were in a sauna that couldn’t be escaped.
As he’d expected, the handle of the pump’s nozzle was a little stiff. Frank gave it a good squeeze. Petrol spurted. He looked back through the front windows of the roadhouse. Frank replaced the nozzle and cast an eye over their car. There was  a half-empty bottle of wine on the passenger seat.
“It’s fine,” he said, walking back inside.
The guy jumped.
“You sure?” the girl said. It was hard to tell if she was putting on the confusion or not.
“A bit stiff is all,” Frank said, passing the shelves and returning to his spot behind the counter. “Anything else I can help you with?” He resisted the urge to look pointedly at the cash register. No need to invite or imply trouble if it wasn’t going to happen.
A creak from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see his granddaughter, Allie standing in the doorway behind the counter. Her black hair hung down over her delicate, dark-skinned face.
 
Absurdly, a sudden rush of self-conscious panic hit Frank. The last thing he wanted was strangers’ eyes on him as he tried to be grandfatherly to somebody who had no interest in him.
“Allie. You here for something to eat, love?” 
Allie said nothing. He quickly headed into the kitchen, where Allie joined him, looking with obvious distaste at what was on offer. He had just turned his attention to the stove, when he heard it.
A shriek of tyres out the front. He looked up as an old station wagon came to a halt near the pumps. It had stopped at an odd angle. The bonnet had just missed the  bowser and was now facing the roadhouse.
Frank waited for the car to correct itself. It didn’t.  He walked through the dining area, past the staring tourists. He opened the front screen door, stepped out and put his hands on his hips, waiting.
Seeing the car clearly now, he felt a prickle of unease. It wasn’t just old; it was battered. And …
The driver’s door opened.
Somebody stumbled out.
She might have been young, not much older than Allie. But it was hard to tell. Stark against the afternoon sky, she didn’t look human. She was coated all over in what he recognised as dried mud and blood. She staggered away from the car. Veered towards him. Her dark eyes, striking in the filth that covered her face and matted her hair, were locked on his. She opened her mouth as if to speak. She swayed on the  spot. And then she fell hard onto the concrete.
Gabriel Bergmoser’s The Hunted, published by HarperCollins Australia, will be in all good bookstores from July 31. It is our Sunday Book Club’s Book of the Month for August — and as a special offer, readers can pre-order or buy it for 30 per cent discount at Booktopia with the exclusive code HUNTED.
Originally published as Book extract: The Hunted by Gabriel Bergmoser