BLURB

      Blood & Dust

      Vampires in the Sunburnt Country 1

      For Outback mechanic Kevin Matheson, it's just another summer's day. Mulga wavering in the haze, sweat on his brow, bastard flies getting in his way.

      And then the vampires arrive, leaving his life like road kill in their wake.

      Caught between vicious nomadic bikers and their brutal foes from the coast, Kevin fights to save not only those he holds dearest, but his own soul.

      But how far will he go to save the people he loves?

      For my father, Frank,

       who slept on the west bank of the Warrego

       and, as is the custom,

       has ever yearned to return.

      ONE

      Dawn was one of Kevin's favourite times of the day, second only to knock-off time. It was cool and quiet, and things hadn't had time enough to go wrong yet.

      From the far end of the house, where the bedrooms overlooked the servo and the main road, came the radio news theme. The strident jingle shattered the stillness like a chainsaw on full throttle. Six o'clock. Shit. The oldies were awake, and Kevin was running late. He scooped tea leaves into the pot and plonked two mugs beside it then pressed the switch to re-boil the kettle.

      Voices, the flush of the toilet, then his father appeared at the end of the hall. The fluoro flickered before flooding the kitchen in harsh light.

      'Standing in the dark, son?'

      'Mornin',' Kevin said, then slurped his coffee.

      His father, dressed for work in shirt and overalls, walked over to the bench. 'Forecast says rain.' He peered out at the breaking day, as though expecting it to pour at any moment, but the only clouds were a pink-tinged band to the west.

      'And we might win the Ashes, too.'

      'Miracles do happen, eh.' His father lifted the kettle to gauge its weight of water, then hit the switch, making it burble.

      'It just boiled,' Kevin said with a grin and a shake of his head. Every morning, the same ritual.

      His father glanced at the calendar hanging from a nail by the fridge. January, it said, underneath the blonde girl in perfectly ironed denim and fresh-from-the-box Akubra, the horse at her side looking slightly bemused. Thursday, with a red K penned in one corner of today's square.

      'Your turn to open, isn't it?'

      'Just heading down now.' Kevin waved his half-drunk coffee in defence.

      His mother came in, her blouse and jeans a faded, imperfect version of the rodeo queen's spotless country style. 'You had brekkie, son?'

      'I'll wait for smoko.' He wasn't hungry, just nervous now they were both here.

      'Late night, eh?' his father said.

      'Thomas,' his mother said. She reached for the breakfast plates, her fingers long and calloused and tanned against the china.

      Kevin's parents had the same eyes: crow's feet in the corners, a permanent squint forged by years living in sunshine, blinking against the memory of flies, alight with the humour that helped them persevere.

      His father replied with a cheeky grin. 'Just an observation.'

      'I was at Meg's,' Kevin said. 'Watching some movie. Went longer than I expected.' He blushed. They had had the TV on - the TV in her room. Some old werewolf flick, lots of howling, a couple having sex by a campfire. Their attention had been on other things.

      'I've actually been thinking, you know, maybe next time we go to Charleville, I'd, well, go check out the jeweller's.'

      They looked at him, expressions hovering somewhere between a resigned knowing and concern. It reminded him of when he'd bought the Commodore and his father had been all, 'Yeah, it's a great car but what about the mileage', and his mother had said she liked the colour - white - and then got all worried because it had had only the one airbag.

      'What do you, um, think about that?' he asked as the silence stretched out.

      'Meg's a good girl.' His father reinforced the statement with a squeeze on Kevin's shoulder.

      'She is; we both like her a lot,' his mother said. 'And you can bring her around here to watch television any time you like.'

      Damn, his face was as hot as a barbecue plate.

      'But you're only young, Kevin,' she continued. 'You've got time. You should enjoy being young. You don't want to do something rash. Just look at your father and me!'

      'Make your own bloody tea, woman,' his father joked, even as he poured the two cups.

      'It's just that her folks are talking about selling up and moving to Brissie,' Kevin said in a rush. God, his voice had a whine like a Land Rover's diff picking up speed. Made him sound like a kid. But he and Meg had been an item since they'd been kids.

      'Brisbane, eh,' his father said. 'Quite a drive.'

      'Yeah, fuckin' Brisbane.'

      'Kevin,' his mother scolded. She didn't tolerate swearing, not in the house. What happened in the garage, well, that was the place for it. Skinned knuckles, shit in the eye, machinery rusted tight and unmoving, parts they waited weeks for only to find out the morons in the city had sent the wrong ones.

      'What's so great about Brissie, anyway?' he said. He'd been there, once, two years ago when the cricket team made the regional finals. That was back when they had enough bodies to make an A-grade team, before the Thompson boys both went off to ag college and their best fast bowler planted his ute in an irrigation ditch on the way home from the pub. All those towers, crowding out the sky, looking as if they were about to fall and crush everyone in the bitumen canyons below. Everything so grey and cold; the air so thick with noise and exhaust that he could barely breathe. Meg would hate it there.

      'I don't know if getting engaged is the answer to that particular problem, but you two are old enough to make your own decisions,' his father said.

      'And we'll be here for you. Always,' his mother said.

      'Always,' his father agreed. 'But right now, let's get to work. You open up and I'll be down once I've had a bite to eat. We'll have a proper chat about it later.'

      His mother's encouraging smile followed him onto the landing. It could've been worse. They could've given an outright no. Still, he thought they might've been a bit more excited. A bit more supportive. A kookaburra cackled, mocking, and Kevin glared in its general direction as the stairs juddered under his steel caps. He loved Meg and she loved him; nothing was going to change that.

      The blue heelers, Bill and Ben, scuttled out from under the stairs, snuffling around his heels. The wire gate rattled closed behind him as he strode out on to Barlow's Siding Road and headed for the service station. The building squatted in one corner of the T-junction facing the scrub-lined B-road, a route favoured by semis and buses looking to make up time, and grey nomads looking to take it slow. The sun, red and swollen, was still low, lone trees throwing long shadows across the barren flats. The heat was starting to settle, like a big open griller, reducing the horizon to a shimmering, silvered mirage. Underneath his overalls, the first beads of sweat stuck his Metallica T-shirt, black faded to grey, to his back.

      The yard at the back of the servo was a tussocked graveyard of rusting car bodies and pieces of farm machinery butting up against the paling fence. The dogs nosed through the patch of native garden, bordered by whitewashed