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Authors: Margaret Clark
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We’re flying down the road. It’s only a matter of time before we run outa juice again.
‘Turn on the radio,’ goes Macca. ‘We might be on the news.’
Cola switches on the radio.
‘And Southern Victoria will be experiencing gale force winds east of Wilson’s Promontory,’ drones the weather man. ‘Showers, hail, a top of 12 degrees.’
‘Nothin’ about us ,’ says Macca, after turning the dial to different stations.
All he gets is static. He bangs the radio with his fist and skins his knuckles. He’s got this freaky look.
‘We gotta calm him down. Get him some Rohies or Serries,’ says Cola.
‘You’ll have to go back to Portland,’ I say.
‘I’m sick of all this. Let’s go back,’ says Cola. ‘I didn’t want to go with you guys in the first place.’
She looks scared.
But Zac jerks at the wheel to turn the unit round.
‘Hey. Man. Steady on!’
The van swerves all over the road. Cola screams. Macca tries to seize the wheel. I reach over, grab Zac’s long red hair and try banging some sense into him by jerking his head hard. Zac fights to control the van, dodging two oncoming cars. Macca slumps back as Zac gets control.
‘He’s been speeding for two days,’ Cola says to me.
‘Driving like this for two days? No wonder he’s freaking,’ I go.
‘ Speeding. Using. Shooting up ,’ she snaps. ‘He’s coming down. He’s not usually so—tripped out.’
‘Hey. What ya tellin’ him for?’ snaps Zac. ‘None of his business, is it?’
Then I hear them. Sirens. The cops again.
‘You may as well pull over,’ I go. ‘They’re going to get you in the end.’
Zac grunts. ‘I guess it’s cross country again, eh.’
He plants the foot, swings the wheel, and we plough up an embankment, through a fence, and across a paddock. This is getting boring! These kids have been watching too many American movies! I feel like I’ve been crashing through fences and roaring across paddocks and barrelling downhighways at 140 k all my life. Was there a life before joyriding? And who the hell ever called it joyriding? Hell riding, more like.
This paddock’s got humps and bumps like you wouldn’t believe. The chassis’s in major agony and we’re going to do the shockers any minute for sure. I’ve never felt so battered and bruised in my life as I’m flung about like laundry in a spin dryer. We do this huge donut then another as Zac loses control again. Cola screams.
‘Where the shit are we?’ says Macca.
‘How do I know? In the middle of somewhere .’
‘Which way’s Adelaide?’
‘How do I know?’
Things are getting tense. We crash through another fence, plummet down an embankment and rip through a creek, spraying up a wall of water around us bigger than Niagara Falls. One thing about this mother, she keeps on going! Up the bank, around more trees, and onto a road.
‘Which way?’
‘Dunno, do I?’
‘That way,’ I go.
‘How do you know?’
‘That’s west,’ I lie. ‘And Adelaide’s west.’
‘Nearly outa juice.’
Great, I think, that’s all I need, to be stranded in the middle of nowhere with this lot.
‘Look out!’
We take the bend too quickly. The old Holden’s had enough. She skids out of control and we wallop sideways into a gum tree with a sickening crunch. I feel the panel work buckle in on my side as I’m hurled backwards against the door.
‘Steve’s not going to like this one bit,’ I say. Then I pass out.
I come round to the sound of someone groaning. I open my eyes. Is everyone alive or dead? Zac groans loudly and rubs his head. He must have hit it on the wheel.
‘Aw, shit,’ he says.
Cola groans. ‘My shoulder hurts,’ she whimpers.
‘You okay, Zac?’
‘Yeah, man.’
‘No sense, no feeling,’ I blurt before I can stop myself.
‘Shut up, you.’
‘My shoulder hurts.’ That’s Cola again.
‘Stop moanin’, will ya?’
The ding hasn’t improved their tempers. I look out.We’re hard up against the gum.
We’re flying down the road. It’s only a matter of time before we run outa juice again.
‘Turn on the radio,’ goes Macca. ‘We might be on the news.’
Cola switches on the radio.
‘And Southern Victoria will be experiencing gale force winds east of Wilson’s Promontory,’ drones the weather man. ‘Showers, hail, a top of 12 degrees.’
‘Nothin’ about us ,’ says Macca, after turning the dial to different stations.
All he gets is static. He bangs the radio with his fist and skins his knuckles. He’s got this freaky look.
‘We gotta calm him down. Get him some Rohies or Serries,’ says Cola.
‘You’ll have to go back to Portland,’ I say.
‘I’m sick of all this. Let’s go back,’ says Cola. ‘I didn’t want to go with you guys in the first place.’
She looks scared.
But Zac jerks at the wheel to turn the unit round.
‘Hey. Man. Steady on!’
The van swerves all over the road. Cola screams. Macca tries to seize the wheel. I reach over, grab Zac’s long red hair and try banging some sense into him by jerking his head hard. Zac fights to control the van, dodging two oncoming cars. Macca slumps back as Zac gets control.
‘He’s been speeding for two days,’ Cola says to me.
‘Driving like this for two days? No wonder he’s freaking,’ I go.
‘ Speeding. Using. Shooting up ,’ she snaps. ‘He’s coming down. He’s not usually so—tripped out.’
‘Hey. What ya tellin’ him for?’ snaps Zac. ‘None of his business, is it?’
Then I hear them. Sirens. The cops again.
‘You may as well pull over,’ I go. ‘They’re going to get you in the end.’
Zac grunts. ‘I guess it’s cross country again, eh.’
He plants the foot, swings the wheel, and we plough up an embankment, through a fence, and across a paddock. This is getting boring! These kids have been watching too many American movies! I feel like I’ve been crashing through fences and roaring across paddocks and barrelling downhighways at 140 k all my life. Was there a life before joyriding? And who the hell ever called it joyriding? Hell riding, more like.
This paddock’s got humps and bumps like you wouldn’t believe. The chassis’s in major agony and we’re going to do the shockers any minute for sure. I’ve never felt so battered and bruised in my life as I’m flung about like laundry in a spin dryer. We do this huge donut then another as Zac loses control again. Cola screams.
‘Where the shit are we?’ says Macca.
‘How do I know? In the middle of somewhere .’
‘Which way’s Adelaide?’
‘How do I know?’
Things are getting tense. We crash through another fence, plummet down an embankment and rip through a creek, spraying up a wall of water around us bigger than Niagara Falls. One thing about this mother, she keeps on going! Up the bank, around more trees, and onto a road.
‘Which way?’
‘Dunno, do I?’
‘That way,’ I go.
‘How do you know?’
‘That’s west,’ I lie. ‘And Adelaide’s west.’
‘Nearly outa juice.’
Great, I think, that’s all I need, to be stranded in the middle of nowhere with this lot.
‘Look out!’
We take the bend too quickly. The old Holden’s had enough. She skids out of control and we wallop sideways into a gum tree with a sickening crunch. I feel the panel work buckle in on my side as I’m hurled backwards against the door.
‘Steve’s not going to like this one bit,’ I say. Then I pass out.
I come round to the sound of someone groaning. I open my eyes. Is everyone alive or dead? Zac groans loudly and rubs his head. He must have hit it on the wheel.
‘Aw, shit,’ he says.
Cola groans. ‘My shoulder hurts,’ she whimpers.
‘You okay, Zac?’
‘Yeah, man.’
‘No sense, no feeling,’ I blurt before I can stop myself.
‘Shut up, you.’
‘My shoulder hurts.’ That’s Cola again.
‘Stop moanin’, will ya?’
The ding hasn’t improved their tempers. I look out.We’re hard up against the gum.
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