Read Online The Low Road by Chris Womersley - Free Book Online

the girl’s concern and would have liked to squat by the road for a minute until satisfied everything was finished here, that it was all over, but he just said in a small voice: I’m fine.
    Wild moved forward again. Lee watched several stray hairs waving about from the side of his head. They glowed in the white beam of the car headlights.
    We just got here ourselves, Wild was saying. The car spun off the road, but there’s nothing we can do now. The people have . . . passed away. We’ll tell someone in the next town. We’ll tell the cop—the police, I mean. We’ll tell the police. Don’t worry.
    The boy nodded, but the girl walked over and kneeled beside the dead man with a hand still clasped over her mouth. Although several feet away, Lee could smell the apple scent of her shampoo and feel the warmth of her body. He tried not to look at her.
    Wait a minute, the boy said. What’s going on here? You’re not going through their stuff, are you? Why is the boot open? What’s that bag there?
    The girl stiffened and turned on her heel. Lee swore softly and was possessed of the now-familiar sensation of things sliding out of control. In a gesture he began to regret even as it was happening, he strode forward and put the barrel of the gun to the girl’s head. I told you. I said we’d be OK.
    Wild groaned. The girl appeared not to realise what was happening for a second, then let out a low moan. Her friend took one step forward with his mouth open. The girl attempted to stand but then lowered herself into a half-crouch with her head retracted into her shoulders, as if trying to disappear. Her hands were waving about in front of her, appealing to the darkness.
    Lee observed all this from somewhere outside himself. The whole thing, he thought, was just like another car accident: that slowing of time and thick liquidity of action before impact. You know it’s coming, and yet it’s always a surprise. He felt enormous, inflated, a giant astride this puny road. He imagined he would be able, should he try, to observe each leaf on every tree for miles around, to smell wood smoke from ancient fires and to hear, beneath the breeze and this girl’s dry wail and the thuddering of his own heart, the sound of a witchetty grub chewing at a leaf, the very snicker of its tiny jaws.
    Then Wild was flailing about in the middle of the road. Lee, he was saying. Whoa. Whoa. What are you doing? This is crazy. He walked backwards, hands up in some gesture to inform the boy to back off, until he stood beside Lee. The girl was sobbing and making tiny, inarticulate sounds. Her body trembled. Lee, Wild said softly. Don’t do this. This is stupid. Really stupid. He stepped closer. Think about it. We’ll have cops all over us .
    Lee watched Wild’s mouth opening and closing. Why was it, he wondered, that men’s beards change colour and tended to be darker around the mouth? Like a nicotine stain, even on people like Wild, who didn’t smoke?
    The boy just stood there with his mouth open. He had placed one hand palm-down on his head, as if preparing to screw himself into the earth. His face shone with tears.
    Wild continued to plead with Lee. Come on. Come on. This isn’t the right thing to do. Please. Lee?
    Then the girl turned her head slightly, just enough for Lee to see her luminous face. Her skin was stretched tight across her skull and she looked up at him through wet lashes. Blue eyes. Please, she murmured. Please, mister. Have mercy. Please don’t shoot me. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. Please.
    Lee stared down at the girl. He could hear Wild’s breathing at his other shoulder. His leather coat creaked and again he felt like weeping, unsure whether for himself or the girl. Why?
    Please, the girl went on, her voice growing in volume and pitch as if suddenly certain this approach was the key to her survival. Please. Please.
    Why? Why did you have