Sons of Gwalia

Sarah kicked at the rich red dirt under her feet, lifted her akubra hat off her head, and swiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

“Fuck it’s hot. 120 degrees in the shade and I’m bloody prospecting. Dumb ass city person. God!” She sighed as she rolled her eyes.

The sun beat down on the top on her hat heating her skull. She gave thanks for the factor 30 sun block cream she had applied earlier; otherwise she would be totally cooked by now. She was tired and the metal detector was getting heavy. Sarah was prospecting just outside Leonora in Western Australia, where people a century ago had walked the 850 odd kilometres from Perth pushing all their possessions in a wheelbarrow trying to find a better life. How the hell they did it she would never know. They must have been determined or maybe even crazy. Some of them had come over from the Americas in search of fresh goldfields. It was a harsh life out here then when there was nothing. It was a harsh life out here now when there was little more. However, it did have a beauty all of its own, and in the spring, a carpet of wildflowers would cover the ground from horizon to horizon.

The area around Leonora was scattered with disused mine shafts. Even the shire surveyors didn’t fully know what was out here. This country was vast and a century ago it wasn’t that important to map where you dug, the main criteria was where you staked your claim and did you have a water supply, there were hundreds of old and what turned out to be fruitless diggings scattered about.

She would have preferred the comfort of her air-conditioned Toyota Land cruiser right now. There were no trees out here, just scrub and red dust and flies. She had had enough for today. Unhooking the litre flask from her belt, she took a long swig of tepid water. She shuddered at the taste. It was time to go back to the Central Hotel in Leonora, there was nothing happening out here and she could really do with sinking a cold one at the bar, frosted glass and all.

Sarah hooked the metal detector over her shoulder and headed back to the ‘cruiser. The sound of splintering wood filled her ears just before everything went black.

Sarah woke to a choking, dust filled world of semi-darkness. She moved and the searing pain in her ankle nearly made her pass out again. There was a thin shaft of light piercing the gloom and as her eyes became accustomed to the light levels, she could see the area around her in the muted illumination. She stared up at where the light entered and realised she must have slid down 20 meters. She gave thanks that the mineshaft was at an angle of about 60 degrees from ground level; otherwise, she would surely be dead. The pain in her bones told her, however, that she was not.

She heaved herself into a sitting position and looked around. She winced as the sharp pain shot up her leg. She ran her hands gingerly over her body. Nothing appeared obviously broken but her ankle was extremely painful and her head hurt. The metal detector lay crumpled next to her in a heap of twisted metal.

“Aww crap, eight hundred bucks down the toilet! That’s all I need! And my friggin ankle’s stuffed.”

As the dust settled, she could see more of her surroundings. The horizontal shaft looked like it extended about 10 meters in front of her but it was hard to tell because of the dust and darkness. She pulled the cigarette lighter out of her pocket and lit it to see what she had found. There were one or two old candles scattered about and she could see that there had been some homemade rope ladders at one time or another hanging from the shaft walls as there were metal pegs embedded in the rock and there where wisps of hemp rope left to float in free space.

She picked up the nearest candle and lit it. Uncomfortably she removed a small tobacco tin that was partially squashed under her left buttock. Inside were a few small scraps of very yellow paper. Gingerly she opened them up. She could hardly believe her luck; the notes inside were about a claim staked here sometime in the 1890’s by a Ben Jamieson. There was also a newspaper clipping about the 85 foot headframe built by the first mine manager of Sons of Gwalia Gold Mine in 1898, a Herbert Hoover who she vaguely remembered had eventually become one of the presidents of the United States of America.

Sarah sighed and settled herself. It would be at least 3 hours before dusk and before the alarm would be raised that she was missing. Great, she thought, the Royal Flying Doctor Service would have to come and get her. How embarrassing that would be. She had visited her friend Julie at the Meekatharra RFDS base only the week before. Now her friend would be able to dine out on this story for months. Oh God! She rolled her eyes. Sarah the city person stuffs up in the outback, yeah just great, she could just see the headlines.

Sarah tried to get comfortable against the rock behind her. She purposely ignored the scuttling sounds that she could hear. Her eyes closed and she nodded off into a light sleep. She stirred from her doze by the gentle touch of a human hand…

She sighed and thought how nice it was to be rescued. The warm touch tickled her cheek as she pressed her face into the caress. Two strong hands encompassed her face and pulled her forward. Vaguely in the back of her mind, she heard a quiet voice say, ‘too long… far too long, my wife,’ before the sensation of soft lips on hers soothed her into a deeper sleep, comforting her.

The desert cold bit into her flesh, stirring her, as the moonlight spewed forth into the cavernous depths of the mineshaft. She woke up shivering as a feeling of dread and fear overtook her. She could feel cold hands, different hands from the ones before, wrapped about her throat trying to choke the life out of her. She reached up to grab at the wrists that were not there. She panicked and screamed and then a scuffle and then nothing, just a feeling of deep sorrow that filled her heart. It vanished as quickly as it had come. Her ragged breathing was all that she could hear in the darkness.

Oh man, she was loosing the plot big time, she thought. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would explode out of her chest. The cockroaches did not help either. They were the usual big chocolate coloured bush ones, not as nasty as the common household variety but still hideous. The sound of them scuttling around her was giving her the creeps. She tried not to think about them crawling over her skin. She was so tired and her head hurt unbearably.

Dozing again, she felt the same soft tender lips as before grazing against her cheek. The subtle scent of rosewater filled her nostrils and soothed her troubled mind. It was amazing what the mind could do when under stress. She relaxed into the enchanting caress and began to respond to the gentle and loving touch of the warm hands. Sarah felt the fingers slip under the hem of her t-shirt and slide across her skin to gently cup her breast. Two fingers gently but firmly pulled on her nipple, arousing it to a firm ripe peak. The other hand slid round and cupped the other breast and began to knead it with increasing urgency.

Sarah gasped her need into the blackness. The intangible hands worked their way over her flesh arousing and tantalising her to the point of intense need. She was panting into the void of the mine shaft as she felt one of the hands move lower to encompass her sex and slide between her thighs to touch her in a most intimate and exquisite fashion. The fingers delicately separated her folds and slid slowly across her cleft, seducing her senses. As the hands and fingers drew her closer to culmination, the captivating lips of a man began a lazy exploration of the rest of her body.

It was a bizarre yet beautiful experience, the ghostly apparition of hands and fingers and lips took her to heights she had never yet gone. The lips travelled the length of her body nibbling and sucking gently. The electrifying tingles of awareness rippled under her skin from her head down to her toes. The fingers of the phantom hands stroked her in loving small circles. When she could stand it no longer she was catapulted over the edge by the amorous lips of this apparition behind the hands, suckling on her in earnest. When her body relaxed again, warmth spread over her as if another body lying next to hers was cocooning her. Just as she was fading into unconsciousness, she heard a name whispered from her lips, Ben…

The torches shone brightly in Sarah’s eyes. She wanted them to go away, she was warm and comfortable. The voices were urgent and shouting for thermal blankets and a hoist with limb immobilisers. Sarah no longer cared where she was, she just wanted to sleep. The sweet name of Ben kept rolling around in her head as she drifted off into the blackness yet again.

Sarah woke to the gentle touch of a hand on her face. She opened her eyes and looked at the face of a man, obviously a doctor.

“Hello there Sarah, I've been looking after you for the past couple of days.” He said as he smiled. “You aren’t terribly hurt, just a fractured ankle and a slight concussion. You’ll be good as new very soon my dear.”

There was something terribly familiar about his touch and his voice, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. The smell of rosewater was almost overpowering as she closed her eyes again.

She asked the nurse later who the doctor was that had been in to see her and she was informed that he was a local boy returned from his studies. His family had lived in the area for years. His great grandfather had been embroiled in the centre of a mining lease dispute until both he and the other man involved had been found at the bottom of the said workings, both dead after an obvious struggle. Local belief was that Ben Jamieson had been protecting his claim from the thief when they had both fallen to their deaths.

Dr Ben Jamieson was as well respected as his namesake relative.

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