Page 61 of Rough Stock

‘Thank you.’ She shook out her hands, clenching them into fists to get the blood circulating.

Having blocked out everything else around her—blinded and deafened by sheer panic—only now did she register the potent stench of animals, thick with methane, burning her eyes and making her stomach turn

‘Don’t mind the smell. You get used to it.’ On two sides of the shed, Dane opened the large doors, exposing nothing but open scrublands and two ATVs. ‘I’ll open the other side shortly when the sun’s shifted a bit off those solar panels. The breeze will clear the smell out quick enough.’ Dane dragged over a camping chair and plonked it near her cage. ‘So, you’re Cowboy Craig’s wife, huh?’

She shrugged.

‘How long have you two been married?’

‘Five years.’

‘You know he’s a dog. Can’t keep his pants on with them buckle bunnies.’

Forcing her focus on her hands, she played the grounding game—thumb to little finger, then thumb pressing to her fourth, middle, and index finger—over and over to keep herself calm.

‘We’ve been separated for a while.’ Three years too long. ‘Didn’t you sell this land to Everlight or something?’

‘I had to.’ Dane gave a meek shrug. ‘I got conned.’

‘They do that.’

‘Do they?’ Dane arched an eyebrow at her, surprised.

‘Everlight’s taken advantage of lots of farmers to buy their land.’ Maybe the conversation would keep her from hyperventilating again. ‘How did Everlight get to you?’ Because Renzo and Dane didn’t act like friends.

Just then, a bull let out a deep, throaty bellow that echoed through the shed. It was a commanding sound that vibrated off the metal walls.

Izzy sat taller, twisting around to see behind her. ‘No way.’ She’d seen enough photos these past few days to recognise it was Wraith’s Wrath, Ginny’s missing bull.

But seeing him in the flesh, those photos did not do him justice.

The Brahman bull was an awe-inspiring sight, a towering mass of muscle and raw power. His cream-coloured coat glistened with health, almost pearl-like under a sunbeam streaming inside the shed to highlight his powerful frame. The prominent hump over his shoulders, distinctive to his breed, rose like a boulder atop his broad neck, with dark eyes assessing his surroundings. He shifted within the pen, showing off his strong polished horns that curved upward like the blades of a warrior. This bull was no ordinary livestock. Even to her untrained eye, she could tell this was a prime rodeo bull.

Wraith’s snort and snuffling bellow was soon met with a rumble of low moos from the two cows penned across from him. The two heifers were also stunning beasts. Their coats looked just as sleek, as if smooth to the touch, their well-muscled bodies were perfectly proportioned, their ears flicking attentively at the slightest sound, and their large, soft eyes seemed calm. They were so graceful and gorgeous, Izzy would have happily adopted them for Dustfire just to watch them graze all day through the windows—if she weren’t locked up like an animal herself.

In the background, a group of six young calves, just a fraction of the size, gave a chorus of high-pitched bleats, filling the air. The poor babies were a bundle of nervous energy, with their pale coats flecked with patches of grey and their small horn buds just beginning to protrude. Wary and skittish, their large doe-like eyes darted around the shed, their ears flicking back and forth to take in every sound.

How could she save them all, while trapped, with no hope of escape.

‘Settle down, you lot. I’ll feed you shortly,’hollered Dane, heading outside the shed. He soon returned with a square hay bale in a wheelbarrow, tossing biscuits of hay into their separate pens and checked their water.

Brushing dust and dirt from her trousers, Izzy hunched over in the cage to study the shed’s layout. Along one side, between the kitchenette and the truck, stood a few odd-looking gas bottles with unusual lids and gauges. What made them even more peculiar was the fine frost coating their surfaces, giving the metal a cold, misty glow. How was that even possible?

As a series of pedestal fans spun in their rotations, a fine wisp of fog drifted off the lids of the heavy-duty canisters like a thin, icy breath. Whatever was inside those canisters was kept freezing cold.

Nearby stood a metal trolley on roller wheels, like something from a hospital. It seemed odd to have something like that in this shed. But it contained labelled vials and swabs—like a DNA sampling kit she’d seen at police stations.

Discarded gloves and used syringes, lay scattered around the bin, near a portable generator. Along with a notepad flapping with the breeze showing some scribbled notes.

After her conversations with Craig, and her past research, her brain clicked into place and she soon realised what the organised, yet discarded operation was… It was for genetic collection.

Again, she craned her neck at the poor animals where Dane was feeding them. ‘Are they okay?’

‘They’re fine. Gotta hand it to Ginny, she treats her stock like kings. They’re used to being pampered.’ Dane readjusted some more pedestal fans, facing the animals, then left the wheelbarrow to one side, scooped up his tin mug and sat back on his comfy camping chair near Izzy’s cage. ‘That’ll keep ‘em quiet for a bit.’

‘You stole Wraith?’

‘How do you even know who Wraith is?’

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