The sound of the gunshot rolled off into silence.
“That came from up the top,” said Annabelle, eyes wide in fear.
“Dad,” said Michael. He swung the door open and stepped into his gumboots, before scrambling down the steps, nearly slipping on the slimy layer of algae. He skidded around the corner of the garage to his red Suzuki Sierra.
He heard his mother crunch across the gravel to her car. Her starter motor chugged for a couple of seconds, but the engine didn’t start. She flung open her door.
“Come in my car,” said Michael as he turned the key. He pushed his foot down and the engine came to life.
Annabelle slammed the door behind her as Michael put the car into reverse and backed out onto the driveway. Once they were out, he jammed the gearstick into first and took off up the hill with a spray of gravel.
Michael skidded the car to a halt outside the dilapidated shed. Nigel was filling the Toyota Hilux up with diesel from a rusty silver tank.
“You’re alright,” said Annabelle, stepping out onto the turned up grass. “Where’s Gaea?”
“She’s gone to get Valeska,” said Nigel. “We’re out of here.”
“Where was that gunshot from?”
“Baldwin’s property,” replied Nigel. “Did you hear the machinegun?”
“Machinegun?” blurted Michael.
Nigel looked over at Michael. “Put those jerry cans in the back of your car.”
Michael jumped out into the rain and ran over to four red jerry cans of petrol leaning up against the shed. He picked up two and heaved them to his car where he set them down in the mud to open the boot.
“What did Mr Bald...” began Annabelle.
“I don’t know,” said Nigel. “Nothing to do with me. Must have done something to anger the government though.” He hung the diesel nozzle back in its place and screwed the fuel cap back on.
“What’s going on Nigie,” came a frail voice. It was Michael’s grandmother Valeska, trailing behind his sister Gaea. The wind blew her thinning hair about wildly, as if she were touching a Sci-Tech static electricity ball.
“Get in the car, there’s no time to explain now,” said Nigel. “Mike, take this.” Nigel handed Michael a black two-way radio. “Use channel forty.”
Michael pocketed the transceiver and hauled the last jerry can into his car, before slamming the door. He jumped into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine.
“Michael, do you read me,” came Nigel’s crackly voice on the two-way.
“Yeah,” replied Michael. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. We’ll make that up as we go. Away from civilisation.”
Michael let the clutch out and followed his father down the hill. The windscreen wipers were going like mad trying to keep the glass dry. Then he saw a light flicker in their house.
Nigel must have seen it too. “They’re at the house. Turn your headlights off, keep the revs down and follow me.”
Michael switched off the headlights and went into third gear to keep the engine low. The moon shone feebly through the cloud cover, but it was enough so that he could see the ute in front of him swerve onto the grass, between the dripping karri trees lining the driveway, over some bushes and into an avocado orchard.
The two cars rolled slowly and silently down the hill until it flattened near a small, weed-choked dam. Some startled ducks took flight. They crept down past another larger dam, and along a narrow track, overgrown with branches. At the end of that was a long empty paddock.
“You can go a bit faster now,” said Nigel.
Michael sped up, following his father through an open gate into another similar paddock. Reeds halfway up the windows flicked past. The ute carved a perfectly squared path through them.
Michael’s car began to slow, and his first thought was, oh crap. He slammed his foot down and dropped into first gear, but it didn’t pick up any speed. He heard mud slamming into the mud flaps behind him. He pushed down as hard as he could, hoping that the soft mud would end before he lost all momentum.
The car stopped.
“Dad, I’m bogged.”
“Jesus Effany Christ,” Nigel’s voice crackled over the two-way.
Michael saw the Hilux stop on the dry ground ahead as he flung his door open. He stepped out and felt water up to his ankles. Torrents splashed over his head as he pushed his way through the swathe of reeds to the front wheel.
“I can’t see,” he said. “Turn your lights on.”
The Hilux turned around and the blazing headlights cut through the reeds, casting shadows on the Sierra that seemed blacker than the rest of the night. Michael squatted down next to the wheel and turned the hub to “lock.” He sloshed around the front of the car, levering his feet from the mire with a hand on the bull bar, and locked the other wheel hub.
“Use low range,” said Nigel.
“I know,” said Michael as he slammed his door shut behind him. He pushed the transfer lever from 2H to 4L, and put his foot down.
The car slid forward a little as the engine span faster and faster. 6000 revs boomed out into the night, but Michael only managed to dig his tyres deeper into the swamp.
“It won’t go.”
Nigel, Annabelle and Gaea got out of the ute and jogged over to the bogged Sierra, their foggy breath rising up through the light beams.
Nigel raised his two-way to his face. “We’ll push you. Once you get moving, don’t stop until you’re on the dry ground.”
Michael watched them take up positions in the dull red glow of his brake lights. Nigel gave the thumbs up.
Michael gunned the engine. He saw mud flicking up onto his sister’s face in the rear view mirror. Nigel gritted his teeth, and his muscles bulged. Michael ground the accelerator into the floor mat, so that the engine sounded like it belonged in a plane, not a car.
The tyres gripped. Michael felt the car slide forward, and he screwed up his face, as if sharing the car’s exertion. Another lurch and he was going. He flicked mud everywhere as he tore through the remaining swamp, and onto the high ground. He braked triumphantly a few metres behind the Hilux.
But the triumph was short lived. A sudden flash of light in the side mirror caught his eye.
