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

small town sprung from the darkness. Like any other town on the plains, it consisted of low, flat-roofed houses, a primary school and a few slabs of struggling grass. A wide and desolate main street with a newsagency, a fish-and-chip shop, a chemist and a motel.
    Wild pulled into a motel opposite the railway station and checked them into a room while Lee slumped in the car. He was exhausted and in great pain. It was cold and the town was blurry and indistinct through the frosted windows. When Wild returned, he was stuffing the last of a muffin into his beard. His overcoat was flecked with crumbs. Lee listened as Wild chewed and breathed, chewed and breathed.
    He turned to face Wild. Am I dying?
    Preoccupied with a lump of muffin embedded between his teeth, Wild didn’t answer. Finally, he licked his fingers, started the car and turned to face him. He burped and Lee could smell the food on his breath. Blueberry. Muffins were always blueberry.
    Hate to tell you this, Wild said, but we’re all dying. This Ishould know. I’m a doctor, remember? Albeit suspended.
    Lee rolled his eyes. But why are you helping me? It seemed suddenly important.
    Wild picked some crumbs from his lap and popped them into his mouth. He chewed and appeared to consider the question. Let’s just say that we both could use a little assistance right now. I’m hardly what you would refer to as an upstanding citizen at this point in time, you know what I mean? Let’s say we both have our reasons for disappearing.
    Lee thought about this. But why should I trust you? I don’t even know you.
    And you trust the people you do know?
    Although it hurt, Lee laughed. The old guy had a point. A bird cawed and swooped like a stone from a powerline to the road, where it cracked a snail against the asphalt. I don’t understand how all this happened.
    Wild didn’t say anything, merely shrugged and guided the car into the parking space. He cut the engine and wiped his nose with a dirty sleeve. He was outsized in the interior of this tiny car; the top of his head brushed the cloth ceiling. Beside him, Lee felt like he was shrinking, draining slowly away, becoming even thinner.
    Where are we going, again? Lee asked, but Wild had already stepped from the car and unlocked the motel room. Lee grabbed his suitcase of money and followed.
    The room smelled of old cigarettes and cheap carpet cleaner. It was the foreign smell of strangers. When he was a boy, people brought food for him and Claire after their parents died, ordinary meals like casseroles or pies, but they always tasted somehow wrong, not at all like his mother’s versions of the same dishes. And he and Claire would stare at the pie dishes on the kitchen bench, sometimes as many as five or six, unable to eat them. That difference, infinitesimal, just enough to matter.
    The main concern with your bullet, Wild was saying, is infection. As far as I can tell, no major organs were hit, but we need to clean you up a bit.
    Lee didn’t like the reference to your bullet and had a brief vision of the mangled lump making itself at home somewhere below his right ribcage, shouldering things aside. Settling in. You’ve got to get this thing out of me.
    Wild closed the door and slid the chain across. He tested the door, then turned and looked at Lee. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. We’ll get you somewhere, he said at last. I know where we’re going. To see an old friend of mine. He’s the best. You’ll be fine.
    Can’t you do it?
    Wild shook his head. No. And don’t ask me to.
    Lee placed the suitcase onto one of the two low, narrow beds and sat next to it. The bed emitted a birdlike squawk. I got to change my clothes. I’m covered in blood. Gingerly he removed his leather coat and wiped his hands on already filthy jeans. His t-shirt crackled with dried blood. He sniffed at his hands and exhaled, embarrassed. And I don’t even know whose