track spilled onto the back road and Brett headed east towards Mungindi. The town was a good twenty kilometres away. From there, he planned on hitching a ride along the way if one approached. The area was well-serviced by cattle, sheep, wheat and cotton farmers and there had to be a truck or car heading south towards the bigger towns and their slaughterhouses.
Brett still hadnât figured out where he wanted to goâ 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 wasnât 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 heâd 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 heâd 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 heâd thought. He had to save these last four until he could scam some more. He couldnât 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 wasnât complaining though. It was the best thing he could do considering he couldnât find any real water bottles or canteens when heâd raided the kitchen. Supplies for runaways werenât high on The Farmâs essentials list. Washing out the two milk bottles had been a last resort. He wasnât going to leave empty-handed, especially if he had to survive the new dayâs 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 â falling to the ground along with the rest of his plans.
âHello, Brett,â a familiar voice said.
Brett nearly crumpled. It couldnât be! Heâd made it this far. He looked at the driver again just to make sure it wasnât a mirage.
âGo away! Iâm not going back!â
He started to run.
The ute rolled up beside him, keeping pace. Sam reached over and opened the passenger door. âHop in,â he said.
âLeave me alone. Iâm not going back and you canât make me.â
âWhere are you headed then?â Sam asked. âMungindi?â
âNo,â Brett said, stopping. He looked across a cotton field then moved towards it. He could always double-back later.
âBrett, get in,â Sam said, pulling on the handbrake.
âNever. Iâm not going back, Sam.â
âOkay. I heard you the first time. Tell me where youâre off to and Iâll take you there.â
Brett hesitated. âWhat did you say?â
âIâll take you wherever you want to go.â
âYer, right.â
âI will.â
âI donât believe you.â
âThen you drive the ute.â
âWhat?â He was even more suspicious.
âHereâs the keys. The uteâs yours.â
The keys skidded to a stop at Brettâs feet. He looked at the ground then at the man. He wasnât kidding.
âBut how are you going to get back to The Farm? Or are you trying to set me up for car theft, huh? Thatâs it, right? You
Brett still hadnât figured out where he wanted to goâ 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 wasnât 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 heâd 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 heâd 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 heâd thought. He had to save these last four until he could scam some more. He couldnât 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 wasnât complaining though. It was the best thing he could do considering he couldnât find any real water bottles or canteens when heâd raided the kitchen. Supplies for runaways werenât high on The Farmâs essentials list. Washing out the two milk bottles had been a last resort. He wasnât going to leave empty-handed, especially if he had to survive the new dayâs 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 â falling to the ground along with the rest of his plans.
âHello, Brett,â a familiar voice said.
Brett nearly crumpled. It couldnât be! Heâd made it this far. He looked at the driver again just to make sure it wasnât a mirage.
âGo away! Iâm not going back!â
He started to run.
The ute rolled up beside him, keeping pace. Sam reached over and opened the passenger door. âHop in,â he said.
âLeave me alone. Iâm not going back and you canât make me.â
âWhere are you headed then?â Sam asked. âMungindi?â
âNo,â Brett said, stopping. He looked across a cotton field then moved towards it. He could always double-back later.
âBrett, get in,â Sam said, pulling on the handbrake.
âNever. Iâm not going back, Sam.â
âOkay. I heard you the first time. Tell me where youâre off to and Iâll take you there.â
Brett hesitated. âWhat did you say?â
âIâll take you wherever you want to go.â
âYer, right.â
âI will.â
âI donât believe you.â
âThen you drive the ute.â
âWhat?â He was even more suspicious.
âHereâs the keys. The uteâs yours.â
The keys skidded to a stop at Brettâs feet. He looked at the ground then at the man. He wasnât kidding.
âBut how are you going to get back to The Farm? Or are you trying to set me up for car theft, huh? Thatâs it, right? You
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