Lucas wasn’t sure how to take what he’d seen. He shook his head and put the vision down to the knock on the head he must have received. He felt dampness on his backside. Moisture had soaked into his pants from the log. Rainforest, an assessment which was confirmed by the leeches he found on his legs. Salt was the best way to get rid of these things, or maybe tea-tree oil. He had neither so he just pulled the suckers off.

He must have been a boy scout or something because he felt attuned to the environment he was in, but something lurked in the background clouding his memory. Did what he just saw come from his memory? He hoped not.

Lucas looked down at his hands and turned the palms over. Not labourer’s hands, nor dish washer. No rings. Who am I?

It looked like a steep climb to the road. He felt okay, and the bump on the head no longer ached. He started climbing, bracing his feet to the rocks and using the ever-present surface roots and vines to pull himself up.

Who was he? He wasn’t sure, but something lingered, a sense of a mission.

He reached the top and stood at the side of the road. Stars were appearing in the darkening sky as daylight receded. He looked to the horizon, but no city lights sending their glow into the night sky. Where was he? Must be out in the bush. Looking back down the steep drop to where the crumbled car rested, he’d been lucky to survive. No sounds. No birdsong. His hand moved to the bump on his forehead. Now he thought about it, it still hurt.

The sound of a car engine broke the silence. What? He thought car engines were silent, at least quiet, maybe humming. Not too many country folk had reverted to electric cars yet. He needed to hide, but there were no hiding places. Too late. The car saw him and pulled over.

The driver wound down his window.

“Lucas, what you doing here?”

The man knew him. And his name was Lucas.

“I’m not sure.” He pointed down the gully. Smoke was drifting up.

The man got out the car and walked over.

“An accident. You okay? The others . . . “

“It’s a police vehicle. Two occupants, both dead. I’d say they died on impact. Not sure about me—fortunate, but confused.

Lucas looked at the man. Definitely belonged in these parts. Where did he know this man from? What was the relationship?

“I’m sorry. My thinking is clouded at the moment. I sense that you know me, but . . .”

The man put his hand up. A stop signal. “It’s okay, Lucas. Is there anything we can do for the occupants? Should we go down?”

“No. There is nothing we can do. They’re definitely dead.”

The man raised one hand in the air in the direction of the crippled car. “Lord, be with the souls of those people.”

“Can you call the police? They need to know about this.” Lucas paused. What was he doing in a police car? “Can you tell me how I ended up in a police car?”

The man stared at Lucas. “Sorry, Lucas, you really don’t remember? They were taking you back . . .”

Why did the man stop? Was there something he didn’t want me to know?

“It’s nothing bad, Lucas. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for the police to come and find you as the only survivor. They could speculate. They’re most probably on their way here now. You come with me now, and I’ll help you find your memory.”

Lucas followed. “You know there was a woman up here. I yelled out to her but she didn’t hear me. Maybe she’d phoned the police.”

The man stopped suddenly and turned around. “A woman?”

Lucas nodded.

“Short, dark hair?”

“Yep, mirror black. It looked like flames from the car accident were reflected there.”

Lucas stared at the man. He saw fear . . . or was it something else?

42 – The fog was clearing

LUCAS WAS DOZING. A blurred face appeared in his mind. Not the lady at the accident but somebody else. Somebody connected to his mission. He thought he could hear voices. But his eyelids were heavy. No motion. The car had stopped moving. Another vehicle? The sound of wheels on gravel having a dreamy, calming effect. Voices.

“Yes, Officer. No, I didn’t see anything.”

“Your friend okay?”

“Bit of a hangover”

“Okay. Have a good day”

“You too, Officer.”

Lucas drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later, he woke again and the vagueness started to clear. He straightened himself in the seat, and felt a few aches and pains. He took a sip of water from the bottle the man gave him.

“You back with us, Lucas?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You missed my conversation with a police officer. He stopped us as we were coming off the track, as I call it. Asked if we’d come across a police vehicle as we made our way down the hill. I had to tell a white lie. Did that for you, mate.”

“Uh-huh.”

Darkness had moved in. There were more cars now—their lights illuminating the interior of the car. Something on the man’s leg caught his attention. A patch to the side of his left knee lifted up on one of the corners and then settled again. The knee moved as the man changed gears, and the patch lifted again as though something wanted to get out. No. It was just the stiff material. Lucas turned and looked outside the window.

“It’s a peace sign.”

“Huh?”

“Noticed you looking at the patch. The sign on it is a peace sign. Are you familiar with it?”

Some clarity was returning. “Are you testing my memory?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“There’s been a variety of claims about its origin, ranging from communism, the devil, and Christianity. But my view is that it had something to do with a couple of hand-held flag symbols which formed the letters N and D, used to represent nuclear disarmament, and the bars followed the path of the flags to give the peace sign. The circle just enclosed the bars.”