Chapter 6
the sixth chapter
MARK
The truck rolls past me and slows at the corner.
Close enough that I could have touched the window if I’d tried.
A reddish brown dust coats its tyres and underbelly.
There’s a logo painted on the door.
Council Engineering Services.
Phone: 07-465...
I don’t need to know the rest of the number.
This guy isn’t from Barcoo Shire.
Must be a Longreach contractor.
Say something, I tell myself. Run after him.
But my feet are frozen in place, heart pounding.
As if it isn’t more dangerous to stay than go.
He pauses to check for traffic out of habit rather than necessity.
Then he veers around the bend.
Move your feet, I scream silently. Don't let him leave!
Just when I think I’ve fumbled my one chance of escape, the ute slows again.
He reverses slightly before entering the fuel pit.
His tray is strapped down with equipment.
Cones, steel frames, rolled fencing.
The driver’s high vis shirt flashes neon orange inside the cab.
He opens the door and climbs out.
Probably been working overnight on the river bridge project outside town.
I’ve seen the crews working down there for weeks.
Now he’s fueling up.
Heading back to wherever he came from.
Somewhere that isn’t here.
Quit standing there like a yobbo and move your ass, a voice inside me urges.
Perhaps it’s my voice, perhaps it’s my mother’s.
She’d want me to do this.
The driver lifts the diesel nozzle and removes the lid on his tank.
The click and hum of the machine is steady.
But the numbers on the screen tick rapidly.
Soon they will come to a halt.
Fucking move, I scold myself. Say something, you egg.
Better than trying to walk the whole way.
Every step toward the truck feels heavy.
My stomach twists with embarrassment as I get closer.
I’m suddenly hyper aware of the split in my lip, the bruises on my cheek and jaw.
The stiffness in the way I hold my body.
The driver glances over.
His eyebrow lifts slightly when he sees me appear from the shadows.
I stop a few feet away.
Don’t want him to think I’m gonna rob him or something.
“Are you going to Longreach?” I ask.
My voice cracks slightly.
The man turns his back, nozzle still in his hand.
But then he shifts again, eyeing me more carefully.
A teenage boy. Been in a fight, no doubt.
Loitering in the dark before sunrise.
His gaze lingers on the bruises.
“Yeah,” he answers cautiously. “I am.”
I do my best to appear calm, non-threatening.
The driver tilts his head slightly.
“What happened to your face?”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I look down at the ground for a second.
“I just… need to get to Longreach. Please.”
He doesn’t say anything at first.
I swallow.
“Please,” I beg. “I really need to get out of here.”
The diesel pump clicks as the tank reaches its limit.
The man gestures across the street toward the police station.
“You could go talk to them,” he says. “They’ll help you out.”
If only you knew, I sigh.
“No. They won't.”
My response sounds sharp.
I shake my head, panic rising in my gut.
“He’s mates with my dad.”
The contractor leans against the side of his truck, eyes softening.
“Did your old man give you those bruises?" he asks.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second, then nod.
“Please. I'll wash your truck for you. I know how to change oil.”
“You don’t have to…”
“I'm real good at fixing things too. I just need to get out of here, before he…”
The man smiles with sadness in his eyes.
“You got family in Longreach, mate?”
There it is.
A spark of hope.
“Yeah,” I bluff. “My nana lives there.”
The man's lips twist slightly.
He walks away to find his wallet.
I don’t want your money, I whisper.
I need your help.
He swipes his card, then pushes the button to confirm payment.
Must be nice to have a bank account.
Or to live anywhere near a bank.
Even my mum isn’t allowed a card.
Guess whose rule that is.
“I’m going to stay with Nana.” I continue the lie. “I'll be safe there.”
My heart sinks as he returns to the driver's seat, twisting his key in the ignition.
Fuck.
I almost got a yes.
But the best I can hope for now is that someone might stop during my walk.
If anyone dares to stop for someone scruffy on an unlit highway, that is.
Maybe I’m gonna have to choose between those two options.
Visibility as a hitch hiker means being fried to death by the outback Australian sun.
Adjusting the backpack so it doesn’t dig into my bruise, I walk toward the grass verge.
◆◆◆
A voice calls from the truck window.
“You getting in, bud? I've gotta drop this truck back at the depot by nine.”
Pure elation. Mild disbelief.
I run to open the passenger door, fingers damp and heart racing.
Hoisting my heavy bag into the foot well, I climb inside awkwardly.
My shoes scrape the metal step.
The seat feels high and unfamiliar beneath me.
“Thanks heaps,” I sniffle.
The cab has air con.
It’s bigger than the car I sat in that one time.
That day when my friend's mum took us out to the farm to get eggs.
“Seatbelt,” the man says, pointing toward the strap.
I pull it across my chest and click it into place.
The simple motion feels strange.
We roll slowly out of the concrete bay and turn left onto the road.
Houses drift past the window, lights glowing inside some as people begin to wake.
I know the names and faces of most of them.
This has been my only world for as long as I can remember.
Good riddance to that pub.
I vow that I will never lay eyes on it ever again.
It all looks so foreign from the other side of this glass.
As though I’m behind a protective shield.
And then, no more Jundah.
Nothing but dirt.
An endless narrow road stretches ahead toward the horizon.
Two suns begin to rise.
One in front of me, and one inside me.
Because for the first time in my life, I’m following these power lines.
Just as I’ve always dreamed of doing.
◆◆◆
It feels as though I’ve been pulled from a rip tide, vulnerable and weak.
I’ve tried to keep my head above water for so damn long.
I press my forehead lightly against the cool glass.
An unknown landscape unfurls in front of me.
Ragged fence posts.
Rusty cattle gates.
Flood signs stand crooked beside the highway.
This outside world has existed even longer than I have.
But I’ve never ventured far enough to see it.
Every time the driver shifts gears or slows a little, my stomach tightens.
As if at any moment the truck might turn around and head back to hell.
But we keep going.
And even if he ditches me here, it's still less of a walk than before.
With every sign, hope blooms.
They’re the same green and silver as my sign near the roadhouse.
Longreach, one hundred and ninety five kilometres.
Longreach, one hundred and seventy two kilometres.
The gritty surface hums beneath the tyres.
Such an odd sensation to be rolling along the ground at a super quick pace.
The sun has climbed higher now, washing the plains in a pale gold light.
Heat shimmers faintly along the road ahead.
Out here the earth looks endless, the way my starry sky often does.
I want to reach out and touch the soft spikes of tussock, to feel them beneath my hand.
But then the road curves, and I feel the engine shift and slow.
The man pulls over at a small middle of nowhere coffee house.
Fuck.
What if he's changed his mind?
What if he tells someone about the strange kid sitting next to him?
What if he calls someone from Jundah to come and get me?
I look around to decide which way I’ll run if that happens.
Not that there’s anywhere to hide in such a wide open space.
When the driver returns, he slides a small paper bag across the dashboard.
“Here.”
It smells so good.
My stomach twists sharply.
I realise I haven’t eaten since yesterday.
Inside the bag I find a steak and cheese pie wrapped in foil
A can of fizzy orange soda, too.
A packet crinkles under my fingers when I tip the items onto my lap.
Potato chips, just like the ones they sell at the roadhouse.
The kind of chips the other kids always had in their lunch boxes when I was younger.
For a second, I just stare at it, marveling at the way the light glints off the wrapper.
“Thank you, Sir,” I mumble quietly.
“Righto,” comes the reply.
I unwrap the pie carefully, trying not to drop crumbs on the seat.
Just in case the man yells at me.
But he doesn’t seem like a yeller.
Or a hitter.
He actually seems like the kind of guy I’ve always wished I had as a dad.
The pastry is still warm enough that it curls with steam as I hold it.
I nibble slowly at first, but hunger catches up with me.
“How old are you, bud?”
Be honest, I decide.
At least about this.
“I'll be sixteen on Thursday,” I answer.
“I'm sure your Nana will be stoked to see you for your birthday.”
“Uh huh. She usually visits us though. We don't have a car.”
The lies come so easily.
That part about the car is true.
“You been to Longreach before?”
“Umm. Ages ago.”
Another lie.
I keep my answers short.
Don’t want to say more than I have to.
Every question feels like something I could accidentally answer wrong.
The engine rumbles steadily.
Soon the driver glances my way.
“You sure you’re gonna be okay when I drop you off?”
I look out the window, avoiding his eye.
“Yeah,” I bluff again.
The truth is, I’m not sure if I will be.
Anything is better than home.
But as much as I’ve wanted to leave Jundah, I’m dreading getting out of this truck.
I lean my elbow against the door and watch the plains drift past.
My thoughts keep circling back to Mum.
She’ll be awake by now, morning shadows skimming across the floor.
Has she noticed that my bed is empty?
She’ll move around the kitchen in that nervous way she always does.
Slow and careful, trying not to do anything that might set my father off.
She’ll find the note inside her coffee mug eventually.
I imagine her standing there reading it with her hand covering her mouth.
Tears sliding down her cheeks, perhaps.
The thought makes my chest ache.
Guilt churns in my stomach.