by Greg McLean
Cindy was asleep beside him. She had fallen into dreamland soon after the van had gotten off the dirt track and back onto the relatively smooth highway. She’d hardly stirred in the hour since.
He looked at her sleeping figure and felt a pang of guilt. He knew it was his fault she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her concern for him was keeping her awake at night. This trip was supposed to help him get out of the funk he had been in for the past six months. Get him away from the scene in Berkeley – get him out of the country, period. Cindy’s thinking was that the farther from home he was, the more likely he’d forget about his problems.
It wasn’t working.
He loved Cindy, but hell, for a psychology major, her way of thinking was simplistic. How was travelling to another country supposed to cure his moodiness, his night sweats, his bouts of depression? It was going to another country that had caused his problems in the first place.
Sure, Australia was a nice place. The landscape was rugged and pristine, the people friendly. In another life he would have had a ball here. But he couldn’t fully enjoy the trip. He was here in body, not spirit.
He looked up from his girlfriend and over to Jewel, sitting with her legs tucked under her backside. She was smoking a cigarette and chatting to her friend, Amber. They were talking about their plans for when they reached Darwin, which, apparently, they were heading for after spending some time in Broome.
The tour operator, Duncan – the friendlier, if dopier of the two – was occasionally chiming in with his thoughts regarding the girls’ vacation, and laughing that maybe he would join them.
Steve didn’t mind the two guys who ran the tour. They weren’t the type of people he would choose to hang around with back home, but he had to at least admire their work ethic, even if driving through the Australian outback wasn’t quite the same as working on a farm all day, or sitting in an office, nine until five.
They seemed like decent enough guys, aside from the hunt-for-food concept. Christ, hunting wasn’t a game. Guns weren’t some playthings to be taken out and given to a bunch of amateurs in an effort to make the experience of being out in the wilderness more authentic.
He had left America – and his memories – to get away from all that shit. He’d come to this country expecting sun and strange animals, not guns and hunting.
He’d had enough of that in Vietnam.
Still, he couldn’t blame Cindy, even though she was the one who picked this particular trip. All it said in the brochure was ‘hunt for your own food’. He thought that meant with your own hands. Be taught the ways of the local Indigenous people and find food using wilderness skills and knowledge – not with simple, brutal firepower.
It appeared Jewel was the only other person on board who felt the same way he did about the whole hunting business. He liked her all the more because of that. She also seemed unenthused about being on this trip – another thing they had in common. He knew she and Amber lived in Perth, and that they had been friends since primary school. Apparently Amber worked in a surf shop near Scarborough Beach, but Jewel wasn’t as forthcoming about where she worked. All she had told him was that she was glad to be away from that shithole of a place, and couldn’t wait to get to Darwin. He’d also found out that her real name was Betty, which she hated. Apparently she had gone by the name of Jewel for the past two years and, aside from her parents, everyone now knew her by that name.
Behind him, Sam and Akira were talking about Australian sports – well, Sam was doing most of the talking. He hadn’t heard a peep out of Sam’s boy since leaving the roadhouse, other than the occasional grunt. The Asian woman, Chiyo, chimed in now and again with her broken English.
Steve hadn’t spoken with the Japanese couple. Most of the other people on this trip hadn’t spoken much with them, either. Only Sam seemed to delight in talking to them, but then Sam seemed to enjoy talking to anyone who would listen.
‘. . . then there’s the VFL, which stands for the Victorian Football League. I don’t really follow the game much myself, but I sometimes catch it on the radio . . .’
A whole week with these people, Steve thought, as his belly churned. He belched again.
Thinking a short nap mightn’t be such a bad idea, he closed his eyes and hoped that by the time they reached their camp for the night, he would feel better.
‘Cricket, now there’s a game that’s close to my heart,’ Sam said. ‘Do either of you know much about cricket?’
‘Ah, no,’ Akira said.
The poor fellow sounded bored, but Steve guessed the Japanese tourist was too polite to either feign sleep or to tell Sam to be quiet.
‘Is it much like baseball?’ Chiyo asked.
She had a sweet voice; demure, much like her delicate face and frame.
‘Well, I guess it is, in a way. There’s a ball and a bat, and you hit the ball with the bat. It’s quite a bit more complex than baseball, though. It really is a fascinating game. I’ll try and explain it to you as best I can . . .’
‘Do you have to?’ Matt sighed. ‘I’m sure they don’t want to hear all about cricket, Dad.’
‘Sure they do,’ Sam said.
‘Cricket’s a boring game and it’s even more boring when people try to explain it.’
Despite his gas problem, Steve smiled. That was the most he’d heard Matt speak – so far, the teenager’s conversation had consisted of the occasional smartass comment directed at his father. He hadn’t thought much of Matt so far: long hair, scruffy clothes, always with a scowl on his face. But maybe Steve could learn to like the guy.
‘Boring? But you love cricket.’
‘No. I don’t,’ Matt said. ‘I haven’t played it for about ten years. I used to like it when I was a kid, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m into music, now. But then, you wouldn’t notice, because you’re not around.’
That seemed to shut Sam up.
Now Steve felt sorry for the father.
He didn’t know their story, but he guessed the two didn’t live together. They certainly didn’t get along, and Steve could practically feel the bitterness Matt felt about his father, like the hot sun that baked the land blood-red.
‘No, really, is okay. We want to hear about this cricky game,’ Akira said.
‘Okay, I’ll tell you about it,’ Matt said, drily. ‘Some dude in white stands with a bat down one end of a pitch while another dude in white throws a ball at him, and then the first dude in white tries to hit the ball and the other dudes in white that are standing around the field try to catch it. That’s basically it. A bunch of dudes in white standing around for the whole day. Oh yeah, and the dudes with the bats wear plastic cups down their pants to stop the ball from busting their —’
The two bangs were loud.
They came one after the other in quick succession. Steve’s immediate thought was that they were gunshots. Floating in that world of half-awake/half-asleep, listening to the banter behind him, his mind screamed at him to react: in that moment he was in the steamy jungles of Vietnam and Charlie had just started firing on them.
As the van started swerving over the road, his eyes jerked open, he sat up and grabbed for his M16.
It wasn’t there.
‘Where is it?’ he cried, but his cries were lost among the other passengers’ screams and a heavy thwump thwump thwump.
He quickly realised he wasn’t in Vietnam – though he could have sworn he had heard the sound of rifle fire.
Still, they were in trouble, just of a different sort.
‘Hang on!’ Bruce screamed.
Steve grabbed hold of Cindy, now very much awake, as the van skidded. All around them was red dust: it was like they had driven straight into a dust storm.
The passengers were thrown against the side of the van. Fortunately for Cindy, Steve was sitting next to the window, and he took the brunt of the hit. But then they were shoved the other way and Jewel toppled to the floor with a yelp.
The Kombi began to sl
ow, before finally coming to a stop by the side of the road.
Dead silence filled the van.
Then Duncan spoke: ‘Is everyone okay?’
Unsettled murmurs confirmed no one was hurt. Jewel grabbed hold of the metal railing attached to the barrier that separated the front cab from the rest of the van, and pulled herself up. She looked pale.
‘Jewel, hon, are you okay?’ Amber said, looking over the front passenger seat.
‘I’ll live.’
‘What the hell happened?’ Sam said, voice shaking.
‘I dunno,’ Bruce said, taking his hands off the wheel and easing out a breath. ‘I think the tyres may have blown.’
Steve let go of Cindy. ‘Tyres, plural?’ he said.
‘Maybe,’ Bruce said. ‘I’ll have to go out and check. But it felt like two. Both front tyres.’
‘Shit,’ Steve said, shaking his head.
‘No wonder it was such a bumpy ride,’ Cindy said.
At that, both Bruce and Duncan flicked their heads around and looked over towards Steve’s corner of the van.
Steve frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Ah, nothing,’ Duncan said. ‘Just making sure the car’s okay. She’s not as sturdy as she once was.’
‘Everything seems okay,’ Bruce said and then he popped open the driver’s side door and hopped out. Steve stood up, stepped over Cindy and past Jewel. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You took a nice tumble.’
Jewel nodded.
Steve opened the side doors and stepped outside. The afternoon was still, eerily quiet, though no less blazing hot than the morning. The sky was a seemingly limitless light-blue blanket. The only blemish in the clear expanse was the raging ball of fire that cooked Steve’s fair skin the moment he got out.
He went around to the front of the van as Amber jumped out, followed by Duncan. They’d come to a stop at an angle: the van’s front half was facing the deep stretch of desert to the left of the highway, while its back half still sat on the road.
‘Shit,’ Steve repeated at the sight of the wheel.
The tyre was a saggy mess of torn rubber.
‘Oh no,’ Cindy said, coming up beside Steve. Her flushed face held concern.
Duncan sighed. ‘Well, I guess it’s a good thing we weren’t going a hundred. We might have flipped.’
‘It’s not so bad,’ Sam said, still sounding shook up. He stood with the small group, arms folded across his chest. ‘You have a spare, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, but not two,’ Bruce said, coming round the front of the Kombi. ‘The left is in the same condition.’
It’s what Steve feared.
‘So wait, you’re saying that both tyres are shot?’ Sam said.
Bruce nodded.
‘Oh my god,’ Sam said.
‘This is not good,’ Akira said. ‘Not good at all.’
‘No shit,’ Steve huffed. He looked at the two tour operators. ‘So, what now?’
‘Hey, man, let us think for a second, huh?’ Duncan said. His handsome Paul Newman-esque face was creased with worry.
‘What’s there to think about?’ Steve said. He loathed procrastination. In the army, you assessed the situation at hand and came up with a solution, quick smart. There was no time to hang around thinking. Thinking for longer than was necessary could get you killed.
Cindy placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. ‘Honey, just relax and let Bruce and Duncan take care of this, okay?’
He shrugged her hand away. ‘No, we’re all in this together. If no one else will spell it out, then I’ll do it. Both the front tyres are blown. How, I don’t know. But that’s not of primary concern right now. What is of concern is that we only have one spare, and so we’re unable to move on from this spot using the bus.’
‘Steve, please, mate . . .’ Bruce said. ‘Just give us a moment.’
‘How far are we from the nearest phone?’
Bruce sighed. ‘Well, the nearest place I can think of is the roadhouse.’
‘The roadhouse?’ Amber said. ‘But that’s ages back.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Someone will have to walk back there,’ Steve said. ‘Two people. The strongest, fittest two. Me and either of you two.’ He flicked his gaze between Bruce and Duncan.
‘Now wait a minute, man,’ Duncan said. ‘You’re not thinking about this clearly.’
Steve felt heat rush to his face. Who the hell was this surfer from Perth to tell him about not thinking clearly? ‘I had to think clearly all through the goddamn war,’ Steve barked. ‘I had to think on my feet and make life or death decisions on the spot. So if anyone’s thinking clearly around here, it’s me.’
Duncan looked taken aback by Steve’s forceful words, his public admission.
‘But it’s about a two-hour drive back to the roadhouse,’ Bruce said. ‘It’d take you . . . I dunno, five or more hours to walk there. And it’s just past four. You wouldn’t get there until dark. And what if it’s closed?’
Steve huffed. ‘So what do you suggest?’
Bruce looked around. ‘Well, I can’t see any other option other than staying the night here. Then, in the morning, if no car has come by, a couple of people can walk to the roadhouse.’
Duncan nodded. ‘I agree with Bruce.’
‘I think that’s the most sensible plan,’ Cindy said, voice soft.
Steve gritted his teeth. Fucking hippies. What do they know about survival? ‘Whatever,’ he spat. ‘Do whatever the hell you want.’
He turned and strode across the highway. On the soft desert soil, he walked over to a rock and sat down with his back to the van.
He liked being right, but hated being wrong even more.
Not that he thought he was wrong. He still thought it was best to leave for the roadhouse. Hell, he’d go alone if he had to. He’d prefer it, actually. He didn’t need anyone slowing him down. Screw five hours, he’d get there in three, call the local auto-repair shop, and have the van fixed and ready to roll by dinner time.
But, if they wanted to stay out here all night, fine, let them.
They couldn’t pitch a tent – the ground was too sandy.
So that left sleeping in the van. Let’s see how they all like that. Cold, crowded . . . then we’ll see who was right.
He noticed a small scorpion scuttling by his feet, raised one leg and brought his boot down on the arachnid. As he pressed, he heard a crunch, felt the creature squish under his weight.
He smiled.
5
‘How far is it to the springs?’ Amber asked.
‘Too far,’ Duncan said. ‘A couple of hours’ walk.’
‘Damn. I could really go for a swim.’
Sitting against the side of the Kombi, Amber lying between her bare legs along the middle bench, Jewel could feel the heat and sweat from Amber’s neck on her skin. She idly played with her friend’s long golden hair.
‘Do you think a car will come by soon?’ Sam said.
He looked hot and tired. His son, slumped in the back corner on the opposite end of the bench to his father, had his eyes closed, but he wasn’t asleep.
‘You want the truth or do you want some hope?’ Bruce said.
Sam sighed and used his straw hat to fan himself.
It had been about an hour since the front tyres had blown, and so far there had been no sign of life. The desert was as still as a picture.
Damn this backwoods tour, Jewel thought. It had been a last-minute decision for both her and Amber to leave Perth and head up to Darwin, but as they didn’t have a car and Amber didn’t want to hitchhike, they were left with only one alternative.
They were lucky, she supposed, that this tour was leaving only a few days after they made the decision to leave.
She didn’t feel so lucky now, though. Stuck out in the middle of the desert with a bunch of strangers and with no sign of moving on until at least tomorrow afternoon.
She just wanted to get to Darwin, and then, if they could scrounge enough money toget
her up there, head up to Indonesia for a while. Disappear. Forget about her shitty life and maybe even stay there indefinitely.
She knew Amber couldn’t stay away for long – two weeks max – but that was okay. Jewel would miss her, but she wasn’t going to go back to Perth. Not now. Not after the argument she’d had with her parents, the horrible things that were said. Not after they kicked her out and told her not to come back – not if she continued to live a like a beggar, with no job, no prospects and wearing such raggedy clothes.
She could feel the tears begin to well, could still feel the sting of her mother’s slap on her cheek. And worse, the words that stung her soul: lazy, selfish, loser, slut.
No, she wouldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think about it. She’d fall into a sobbing mess if she spent all of her time thinking about how her parents had treated her. The problem was, out here in the middle of nowhere, there was nothing to do except think.
‘I still don’t understand how it could have happened,’ Bruce said, sitting beside Duncan on the step below the passenger-side doors. ‘The tyres weren’t all that old, and I pumped them up myself before we left.’
‘Maybe you pumped them up too much?’ Cindy said. She was sitting in the front passenger seat – Amber’s seat – staring out the window. Steve was still sitting out there on the rock.
Jewel felt she had misjudged Steve. She thought he was a good guy – quiet, sure, but then she wasn’t exactly a chatterbox. He hadn’t been overly enthused about this tour and he hadn’t been keen on shooting – just like her.
But, as it turned out, he was like most men she knew: full of machismo and stupid pride. And to make matters worse, he was a soldier. A mindless killing machine who slaughtered innocent people just so Corporate America could continue taking over the world. She wasn’t a protestor or anything like that, but she still hated the war and all it stood for.
He must be cooking alive out there.
‘No, definitely not,’ Bruce said. ‘I make sure I don’t overinflate the tyres. I mean, one tyre I can understand. You run over an especially sharp rock or something . . . but both front tyres? I didn’t feel us hit anything.’ Bruce shook his head.