Catherine Jinks TheRoad (40 page)

‘What’s up?’ she called. ‘Breakdown?’

The truck driver shook his head. When he reached her, and stooped, Peter saw that he was covered in dirt and sweat – even his brown curls were dusty. He had a stubbly chin, wide green eyes, and muscles in his arms. They swelled out from beneath the sleeves of his tight T-shirt.

His mouth was a thin line until he caught sight of Rosie. Then it seemed to relax.

‘I’m outta petrol,’ he revealed, in a hoarse but pleasant voice. ‘Are you headin for . . .’ He jerked his thumb.

‘The Hill?’ said Del cheerfully. ‘Hop in. This is the Broken Hill express.’

Linda leaned forward a little, as if to protest, but she didn’t need to because the truck driver hesitated. His gaze ran over

Louise, Peter, Rosie. His eyes were bloodshot.

‘There’s no room,’ he rasped.

‘Plentya room,’ Del replied. ‘It’s a wagon. Mongrel can go back there with the bags, and one a the kids can hop in front here. No worries.’

‘But Del –’ Linda began, looking nervous. Del interrupted before she could proceed.

‘He’s in the same boat as you, darl. Wouldn’t wanna leave ’im.’

‘Do you have a CB radio?’ Noel suddenly asked. He was addressing the truck driver. ‘Or a satellite phone, maybe – something like that? Our mobile doesn’t work out here, but if we could call the NRMA, we could arrange something about our car.’

The truck driver looked strange. Watching him, Peter became more and more convinced that something was wrong. The guy’s breathing was erratic, his face was smeared with dirt, his eyes were slightly glazed. He seemed distracted, and kept straightening up to peer around him before lowering his head again, so that it was almost level with Del’s.

Instead of answering Noel, he asked abruptly: ‘Did
you
run outta gas?’

‘That’s right,’ Noel responded. ‘We were heading for Mildura, and we –’

‘Headin for
Mildura
?’ The truck driver’s voice was so sharp that Linda flinched. Peter, who saw the guy’s knuckles whiten where he was gripping the edge of the window, wondered uneasily if he was mad. An actual nutcase. He was certainly behaving in a very weird way.

‘Look, mate, ya comin or not?’ Del sounded testy. ‘We can’t wait around.’

‘There’s something wrong,’ the truck driver blurted out.

‘Eh?’

‘There – there’s been a shootin.’

‘What?’

Peter gasped. His mother grabbed Louise.
‘Noel!’
she exclaimed, but Noel lifted his hand. The truck driver was still talking, his voice unsteady.

‘There’s a property down the road – you musta passed it. Thorndale. I went down there for help with two blokes – they picked me up – there were bodies on the road –’

‘Hang on,’ Del interjected. ‘There’s kids in here, wait.’ She unlatched her seatbelt and pushed open her door, causing the truck driver to step back. Linda sucked in a lungful of air, so quickly that she disturbed Rose, who uttered a plaintive protest. The driver’s door banged shut. Peter swallowed.

A shooting?

‘I don’t like this,’ Linda hissed at Noel. Del and the truck driver were moving away from the car, Del hitching up a pair of sagging, greyish track-pants. She had left her keys in the ignition, and the headlights on. ‘Noel? What are you doing?’

‘I’d better see what’s up.’

‘Noel!’

‘It’s all right, Linda, just stay with the kids.’

Peter’s dad climbed from his seat without closing the door behind him. He passed in front of the headlights, which bleached the colour from his mauve T-shirt, and threw odd shadows across his face.Mongrel whined.The old dog stuck his head out of Del’s window, his heavy pink tongue unfurled like a limp flag. His mistress was standing a few metres in front of the car, talking to the curly-haired truck driver.

Noel joined them tentatively, but soon became absorbed into the conversation – which was a serious one, to judge from the body language. Peter knew his father; he knew what it meant when Noel covered his mouth with a clenched fist. The truck driver was hugging himself like someone chilled to the bone, and Del’s hands kept moving, from her hips to her hair to her collar to her pockets and back to her hips again. Once she pointed, and the truck driver pointed too. Once she took off her hat and wiped her forehead, before jamming her hat back onto her scalp, pulling its brim down almost fiercely. Once they all glanced towards the car, and then Del shook her head, and they looked away again.

‘What’s going on?’ Louise asked, very quietly.

‘I don’t know.’ Linda couldn’t take her eyes off Noel. ‘Shh.’

‘Mum? I don’t like it here.’ Louise’s voice was shrill, and Linda put an arm around her shoulders.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Has someone been shot?’

‘
Shh
, Louise!’ Linda jerked her head at Rosie, who was still half asleep, her eyes dull and groggy under heavy lids. Peter gnawed at a thumbnail. Things were getting out of hand. Something was wrong. He wished desperately that he was at home, tucked up in bed, with a full stomach.

‘I’m hungry,’ Rosie moaned.

‘Soon, sweetie. Soon.’

‘I’m hungry
now
.’

Mongrel’s whine became louder – more insistent – and Peter realised why: Del was heading back to the car. She walked briskly, frowning, with the truck driver at her heels. Upon reaching the driver’s door, she yanked it open and gestured at Mongrel.

‘Hup!’ she snapped. ‘C’mon!’

Mongrel sat panting, his eyes liquid.

‘Git!’ Del snapped, snatching at his collar. She dragged him onto the road and around to the back of the station wagon, where she forced him into his wicker basket. There was a lot of scraping and grunting and whimpering, and even a few muttered ‘Christs’, which Peter pretended to ignore. It wasn’t hard, because other people were talking. Leaning into the car, Noel addressed his family over the top of the front seat.

‘Alec’s coming with us,’ he declared, fixing his wife with an intent, warning gaze. ‘He can squeeze in front with me, all right?’

‘Will there be room?’ Linda asked, more as if she was raising an objection than seeking to be reassured. But Noel was firm.

‘He can’t stay here. Believe me, we can’t leave him here.’ He mouthed the word
‘later’
, before sliding into the centre of the front seat. ‘Alec? This is Linda, my wife, and this is Peter and Louise and Rosie.’

Alec nodded, mumbling a salutation. He threw his weight into the seat formerly occupied by Noel, causing grief to the car’s ancient suspension. Springs creaked. The whole car wobbled.

Alec slammed his door just as Del opened the one on the driver’s side. She pushed something long and dark across the men’s knees. It took Peter a few seconds to realise that he was looking at a rifle.

‘Del!’
Linda screeched. ‘What are you
doing
?’

‘It’s me .303,’ Del replied, in the puzzled tone of someone stating the obvious.

‘Don’t bring it in
here
!’

‘It could be dangerous,’ Noel added nervously. ‘Driving with a loaded gun . . .’

‘It’s not loaded.’ With a grunt, Del squeezed herself behind the steering wheel. ‘I’ve got the magazine right here, see?’ Then she shut her door, and passed a small, black box to Alec. ‘I reckon yiz can shoot, eh? One a these things?’

Alec nodded.

‘It’s spring loaded. Bit stiff.’ So was the gearstick, which Del had to shove and jerk before she could guide her Ford back onto the road. ‘Yiz’ll have to give the magazine a good, hard whack before it’ll slide in –’

‘Del,’ Linda interjected (and Peter could tell that she was trying very hard to keep her voice level) ‘I’d rather you put that gun away. You’re scaring the children.’

‘With a Lee Enfield? Nah.’ Del tossed a quick grin over her shoulder. ‘I bet this little bloke wants a hold, don’t ya, darl? Boys love guns.’

Peter wondered if he was supposed to reply. Whatever he decided to say, it would certainly offend someone. Fortunately, however, Linda answered for him.

‘We don’t believe in guns,’ she declared stiffly.

‘Zat so?’

‘Whatever the problem might be,’ Linda went on, ‘a gun isn’t going to solve anything.’

‘Well, ya could be right,’ Del responded philosophically, as Alec fiddled with the .303. He cradled its butt against his shoulder, squinting down the barrel, which was thrust out the window. Then he dropped the butt on the floor between his knees, so that the barrel was scraping the ceiling, and struggled to push the magazine home. ‘But I don’t wanna take chances,’ Del finished. ‘Not when there’s another gun around.’

‘
Another
gun?’

‘Later,’ said Noel.

Silence fell. The only sounds were Mongrel’s whining, Rosie’s snores, and the ‘click’ of a rifle bolt, which Alec was testing.

They drove on through the thickening darkness.