The man stared at her for a moment longer, took another step backward and then motioned uncertainly to an ancient truck parked nearby.

‘There’s no other way of getting out of here than that. How did you get here?’

‘Coach.’

‘The coach has left.’

‘Yes,’ Gina said, trying to hold her impatience in check. ‘Will you take us to the hospital? We need help.’

‘Nearest clinic’s at Gunyamurra, twenty miles from here,’ he told her, still really doubtful. ‘But there’s no one there now. The Wetherbys and the Gunnings-the two families that live near there and the workers on their stations-they were all here today so there won’t be a clinic operating. Maybe you need a doctor.’

‘Yes, please.’ To tell him she was a doctor herself would only confuse matters.

He cast another glance at her bulge. His mouth tightened as if he was becoming sure of his lunatic theory.

‘How can I contact medical help?’ she snapped, and he blinked.

‘We had the Remote Rescue Service on call during the rodeo,’ he told her, totally bemused. ‘They flew Joseph Long out with a broken leg an hour or so back. That was near the end with only the novelty events left, so they didn’t come back. Word is that they’re short a couple of doctors back at base.’

‘I need a doctor now,’ Gina told him. She was still holding CJ’s hand tight and using her other hand to cradle the baby. But the baby didn’t seem to be moving. He was so limp.

He couldn’t die. He mustn’t.

‘I s’pose I could call them back.’ There was another doubtful look at her bloodstained T-shirt-a look that said he accepted there was blood and maybe there had been a baby but he wasn’t too sure that he mightn’t be dealing with an axe murderer. ‘You sure it really is a baby? A live baby?’

She released CJ and held up the T-shirt-just for a moment, just so he could see.

They all looked at the bulge.

At the windcheater-wrapped baby.