by Scott Monk
Brett still hadn’t figured out where he wanted to go — another town or back home to Sydney. There were more opportunities for work in the cities and virtually none in towns. (The drought had dried up more than just the ground.) The problem with living in a city was rent. It was expensive, and with seventeen bucks ninety, the only thing he could afford to stay in was a five-star clothing bin. With towns, however, a bed during summer wasn’t a problem. He could camp in a field or on a hill and leave only when he needed to scab some food. The rent was dirt cheap (literally) and he’d slept in Sydney parks before. What would the difference be? He doubted he could go back home to Mount Druitt ever again.
He thought about it for a while but decided to leave it to fate. The first driver who offered him a lift would decide where he’d go.
Bored again, Brett pulled out his cigarette pack but put it away. There were only four left. The fight had left him more tense then he’d thought. He had to save these last four until he could scam some more. He couldn’t live without his smokes. So he had a drink instead. He pulled out a plastic two litre milk bottle filled with tap water and sipped from it. It was just cool enough to wet his throat but it still had a funny milky kind of taste. He wasn’t complaining though. It was the best thing he could do considering he couldn’t find any real water bottles or canteens when he’d raided the kitchen. Supplies for runaways weren’t high on The Farm’s essentials list. Washing out the two milk bottles had been a last resort. He wasn’t going to leave empty-handed, especially if he had to survive the new day’s heatwave.
Brett finished twisting the lid back on, when, as if by fate, the headlights of a car rounded a bend in the road and caught him. He moved to the side, walked backwards and stuck his thumb out. The ute indicated and stopped twenty metres in front. With a short victory whoop, Brett gripped his bag close to his shoulder and ran towards the car, his great big smile — falling to the ground along with the rest of his plans.
‘Hello, Brett,’ a familiar voice said.
Brett nearly crumpled. It couldn’t be! He’d made it this far. He looked at the driver again just to make sure it wasn’t a mirage.
‘Go away! I’m not going back!’
He started to run.
The ute rolled up beside him, keeping pace. Sam reached over and opened the passenger door. ‘Hop in,’ he said.
‘Leave me alone. I’m not going back and you can’t make me.’
‘Where are you headed then?’ Sam asked. ‘Mungindi?’
‘No,’ Brett said, stopping. He looked across a cotton field then moved towards it. He could always double-back later.
‘Brett, get in,’ Sam said, pulling on the handbrake.
‘Never. I’m not going back, Sam.’
‘Okay. I heard you the first time. Tell me where you’re off to and I’ll take you there.’
Brett hesitated. ‘What did you say?’
‘I’ll take you wherever you want to go.’
‘Yer, right.’
‘I will.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Then you drive the ute.’
‘What?’ He was even more suspicious.
‘Here’s the keys. The ute’s yours.’
The keys skidded to a stop at Brett’s feet. He looked at the ground then at the man. He wasn’t kidding.
‘But how are you going to get back to The Farm? Or are you trying to set me up for car theft, huh? That’s it, right? You —’
Sam sighed under his moustache. ‘I’m not giving you the ute to keep or setting you up. I’ll ride along to where you want to go.’
‘Then what?’
‘You get out and I drive back home.’
Cautiously, Brett bent down to scoop up the keys. ‘This is a trick, isn’t it? You think you can —’
‘No tricks. The ute’s yours to drive.’
‘You’re not going to knock me on the head when I’m not looking and kidnap me are you?’
‘Like I said, Brett, no tricks. You have my word.’
Sam shifted over into the passenger’s seat waiting for Brett to get in. Brett didn’t trust him but he did need the ride. He looked at him. Even if he did turn on him, he was fifty. Brett’d take him out easily and ditch him and his ute before he ever woke up.
Opening the door, he sat down in the driver’s seat. He glanced at Sam who nodded towards the ignition. ‘You do know how to drive a car, don’t you?’
‘Yer.’
‘Well good. Then start her up.’
Brett reached forward but Sam’s voice stopped him. ‘One rule though,’ he said. Brett rolled his eyes. He knew there’d be a catch. ‘Keep to the speed limit. I don’t want any cops pulling us over.’
A little stunned, Brett nodded.
One eye on the road and one on Sam, Brett buckled up and turned the key. He took his foot off the clutch and RRRUUUMBLE! The cab violently threw them about, forcing him to kill the engine! Sitting in the darkness, Brett turned to Sam and offered a smile. The old man sank in his seat. After two more tries, the ute slowly pulled away from the roadside. Brett grinned as he kicked it into second, third then fourth gear; still a kid at heart when it came to driving. Sam wasn’t watching, however. He was more interested in the night sky and letting the wind blast his grey-brown hair.
Ten minutes into the ride, Brett started to relax. He could see the lights of Mungindi in the distance and Sam hadn’t yanked the steering wheel round and forced him back to The Farm.
‘C’mon,’ he urged the stockman. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Not before you tell me why you’re running away.’
‘I asked you first.’
‘And I’ve been doing all the talking between us. Now it’s your turn.’
Brett looked in the rear view mirror at the blazing lights of a freighter ready to overtake him. Sam waited for an answer and Brett only gave him one because Sam was letting him drive. ‘I just am,’ he shrugged.
‘Why?’
‘Because I hate it there, all right?’
‘How can you hate it? You haven’t even been there for twelve hours.’
‘Nobody likes me. I don’t want to go to class. And there are too many rules.’
‘Nobody likes you yet because you haven’t given them a chance to know you. It takes time, you know. Besides, you haven’t been very friendly yourself.’
‘Yes I have.’
‘Like you were tonight when I caught you and Josh fighting?’
Brett’s cheeks burned and he checked the side mirror. ‘Nothing happened.’
‘So you said.’
The two sat in silence for a few moments before Brett asked, ‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘Mary and I go through this with every new boy. Most guys try it at least once. Mungindi’s the nearest town and most kids go there. After all that’s happened today, I knew you wouldn’t stay the night.’
‘Why should I? I don’t want to live there.’
‘Who does? It’s a correctional facility.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But the fact is you were put there for a reason. You have to stay.’
‘Nothing’s stopping me from leaving.’
‘Except yourself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I could put ten metre high fences with razor wire all around the property but someone would still find a way to escape. If guys want to stay, they will. If they don’t, like yourself, they won’t.’
‘So what? You just let them leave?’
‘No, I don’t do anything. If a boy wants to leave, it’s his decision not mine.’
‘So what’s the catch?’
‘He has to face the consequences of that decision. The fact that he’s an escaped prisoner. That the police will be after him. That he might not have any food to eat.’
Brett’s stomach grizzled.
‘That the rest of the inmates will be punished because of that one boy’s actions.’
‘I don’t care.�
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‘You mightn’t, but forty other guys will. And then —’
‘You’re all talk.’
‘Maybe, but you see The Farm is all about trust —’
‘Here we go.’
‘Yes, here we go. The minute you were placed in my care, Brett, we had to trust each other. I trusted you to stay at The Farm and you trusted me to help you sort out your life. And you and the other inmates have to trust each other to survive.’
‘Well, that didn’t last long did it?’
‘No, it didn’t.’
‘And now what? I suppose you’re disappointed in me because I broke that trust!’ Brett sneered.
Sam shrugged. ‘Yes, but that doesn’t matter any more. You said yourself you didn’t want any help.’
He had that right anyway.
‘So what do you think you can do for me? I haven’t got any problems.’
‘On no?’ Sam said. ‘How about the one where you think the whole world’s against you?’
Brett flinched.
The ute was silent again. Sam was lying, of course. Brett didn’t have any problems. And he didn’t need any help. He looked after himself.
He changed the subject quickly. ‘You’re serious about this aren’t you? You’re going to let me go.’
‘If you want to go — yes.’
‘Will you tell the cops I’ve done a runner?’
‘By law, I have to.’
‘What’ll happen if they catch me?’
‘You’ll be arrested and appear before a magistrate again. They’ll convict you for escaping and lock you up for a couple of years.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘Nope.’
‘Then they won’t catch me,’ Brett said.
‘Good luck.’
Dark streets greeted them as they entered Mungindi. It was a quarter to one and the entire place was asleep. The ute was pretty low on petrol (maybe Sam planned it that way) so this was the final stop. Brett parked on a back street, behind the post office, grabbed his bag and closed the door behind him. Sam slid over into the driver’s seat but didn’t follow him outside. So he’d kept his word.
‘You don’t think I should be doing this, do you?’ Brett asked.
‘That’s not my decision. If you want to go, I can’t stop you. You’ll leave anyway.’
Standing there, his bag over one shoulder, Brett looked at him a bit confused. It wasn’t what he thought he’d say. He expected an argument at least.
‘You can always come back to The Farm, you know. I believe in giving people a second chance.’
Brett looked away. ‘Yer, sure,’ he said.
‘Well, goodbye,’ Sam said finally when they had nothing more to say. He dropped the handbrake and indicated. The ute did a U-turn and was about to leave when he called out from across the road, ‘Just remember, Brett: only you can change your life.’
Brett heard the rumbling of an approaching freighter, turned round and saw the orange lights ringing its cabin rise over the hill. He stepped onto the road proper to make sure the driver could see him and jerked out his thumb.
UUUURRRRNNNNTTTT!
The driver palmed his horn long and loud. The freighter continued straight at Brett until he realised it wasn’t going to stop! He leapt out of the way, crashed onto the ground and rolled into a ditch as the freighter thundered past in a blast of pig sweat and manure.
His water bottles broken and his clothes wet, Brett coughed and coughed until the overpowering stink was cleared from his nose and lungs. It took him a full minute to do so. When he was finished, he cursed long and hotly. The word echoed in the quiet, leaving him feeling even more alone. He thumped the grass then clambered back onto the road to keep moving. None of this was part of his plan.
Scabbing a lift had been harder than he’d thought. He’d stuck his thumb out to three cars and two trucks now without success. He reckoned it was because of the way he looked. He was dressed like a fugitive, walked like one, and never smiled — just like a fugitive. Plus Josh gave him this busted jaw with that lucky punch in the bathroom. That couldn’t be helping. Every driver that passed him probably thought he was trouble. Brett didn’t blame them. He’d think the same thing too.
Buttoning his shirt, he tucked it in and straightened his back to drop the mean look. Clean and neat wasn’t his style, but he was willing to look like a dork to get away from Mungindi.
The cops would never find him out here. The country was big and wide and they’d give up chasing him after a while. He was away from the world he hated so much. He was free and happy and wanted to start a new life on his own terms. Not the court’s. Not his family’s. Not Sam’s. But on his terms.
Another car zipped past and Brett dropped his thumb. There were fewer cars the further he walked. Yawning, he checked his watch. 2.21am. No wonder he was so tired. The only sleep he’d had since Sydney was half an hour in the back of a paddy wagon. His stomach roared and he winced in pain. It had been a long time since he’d eaten too. He stopped next to a white road marker and slumped down against it, opening his bag to look for food. The rations he’d stolen ought to last him two or three days. He was worried about getting caught and had just thrown anything he could find in the cupboards into his bag.
Water wasn’t a problem, even though he’d just lost his bottles. He could always find a river and camp beside it. Food, however, was. He couldn’t go walking into a town for the next couple of days in fear of some local or nosy cop pulling up beside him and asking, ‘Aren’t you that missing kid from Mungindi?’ And he wasn’t going to rely on any primitive instincts to hunt kangaroos or wallabies or whatever types of hamburgers on legs lived up this way.
He pulled out a can of vegetable soup. Great, he snorted, putting it down next to him. At least he’d be eating healthy. Spaghetti? No. Canned tomatoes? No. Baked beans? Definitely not! Ah. That was better. Canned frankfurts. There was some bread in his bag too. He could light a fire, heat them up in the can then —
Then —
Brett chucked his bag away. It clunk clunk clunked into a ditch beside the road as he hit the ground and cursed. Not only had he left the bread behind; he’d forgotten to grab a can opener! He just shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. How could he have been so —
‘STUPID!’
When the echo couldn’t be heard any more and his temper had cooled down, he went after his bag. It had his wallet and his clothes in it. He scooped the cans back inside and slung it on his shoulder again. Who knew? He might come across a discarded can opener at a camping ground or at least a shop that sold them.
As if.
With cramped legs, he stretched to his full height again and readjusted his bag’s shoulder strap. There was a grove about two hundred metres away that didn’t seem that spooky. He could camp there overnight and hopefully find a river nearby.
White light swept over him and he stopped. He stuck out his thumb and waited for the car to pass but this time he got lucky. A blue convertible with a white stripe down each side indicated and pulled over to the side of the road. He blinked and saw that it was real. Running up to it, he was all smiles again.
‘Where are you headed?’ the twentysomething driver asked, popping open the passenger door.
‘Er, south.’
‘Whereabouts south?’
‘Sydney?’ Brett offered.
The driver whistled. ‘That’s one long trip.’
Brett knew his destination was a mistake the minute he said it. It would give the cops a place to look. Then again, it could work in his favour. If they were looking in Sydney, while he was elsewhere …
‘Hop in,’ the driver said. ‘I’m heading as far as Newcastle, not far from there.’
Brett grinned and said, ‘All right.’
He closed the door and the driver pumped the accelerator in a cloud of dirt and gravel. Within seconds, Mungindi was just another forgotten name on a map.
‘What’s in Sydney?’ the driver asked.<
br />
‘My family.’ Brett gave the guy the once over. He was about one hundred-and-seventy centimetres with slick blond hair that curled above his shoulders. He wore blue jeans and a camel-coloured cotton shirt, and sat casually in his seat: one hand on the wheel and the other on the roof. Brett’s hand, however, was curled round the door handle. He was ready to jump out if this guy turned queer on him.
‘You’re a long way from home,’ the driver said.
‘Yer, I was, er, visiting my aunt. She isn’t too well at the moment and I didn’t want to ask her for any money for the trip home.’
‘It isn’t safe to hitchhike, you know.’
‘Yer, I know. I don’t have any other choice though.’
And that was the truth.
‘What’s in Newcastle?’ Brett asked, changing the subject. ‘It’s just as long a hike as Sydney.’
‘Work. Mr Mellor — that’s my boss — wants me to get back to the office. Something about a computer error, I think. I don’t know. He didn’t really explain the problem clearly. I said to him I was on holiday. He said he didn’t care if I was in Hawaii — “Get back here now!”. So here I am. Instead of lying in a hammock in Cairns with chicks all round me, I’m on my way home probably to turn the power on.’
Brett half-smiled.
‘Do you mind if I, er, go to Newcastle with you? I mean, if it’s not any trouble —’
‘Yer sure. It’s going to cost you though.’
Brett’s hopes sank. ‘How much?’
The driver shrugged. ‘A couple of bucks for petrol.’
‘That’s good because I’ve only got a couple of bucks.’
The pair grinned, the driver more so than Brett.
When they settled down, the driver swapped hands on the steering wheel and offered a handshake. ‘Oh, by the way I’m James.’
‘Brad,’ Brett said, nearly giving away his real name.
‘Nice to meet you, Brad.’
James focused on the road a while as the conversation came to an awkward pause. Brett looked out into the dark countryside and shifted his bag in his lap. The cans were heavy on his legs.
‘You can put your bag in the back if you like,’ James said.
