“He’s gone.” Swampy looked from Indy and Finn beside the fire, to Mack and Bindi in the tent.
Finn stood and asked, “Who’s gone?”
“Wombat. He’s not in his truck. And he’s not around camp, neither.”
Finn’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Mack. It looked as if he wanted to say more, but he let Mack take the lead.
Mack shrugged and said, “He’s probably just gone off into the bush for a little…alone time.” Indy silently agreed with Mack. The camp had a bush dunny situated a few hundred meters from the perimeter of the camp. But at least half the truckies and contract crew would rather take their own personal trowel and roll of paper and find a nice tree to squat behind.
“Nah, mate,” Swampy shook his bald, tattooed head. “I’ve been up for an hour, and I checked his truck then because he ask
