Young Writers Society

A ute rode south along the Hume highway out of Bendigo. Heat rose from the road before warping the air so that the beige plains looked like a twisted reflection in a carnival mirror. To the west was a few good miles of pastureland and the northbound road, with cars crawling along it like beetles on a stick. 

Three teenagers sat shoulder to shoulder in the cab, all staring ahead. No one spoke. The radio was on but it was quiet, barely louder than the hum of the engine. Although there were still work tools behind the seats, they each had on washed jeans and clean shirts. The oldest, Rick Beattie, drove through the small town of Derrinal fast enough that people smoking outside the old bistro watched the ute awestruck, with their cigarettes hanging in their mouths.

One of the other teenagers was Beattie’s half-brother, Adam Axtens, and their co-worker, Josh Taylor. The three spent more time together than most husbands spend with their wives. They sleep parallel in three single beds, their elbows touched as they stooped over their porridge bowls at breakfast, and when one was in the shower, the door was left unlocked so others could come in to use the toilet.

Axe sat in the middle and he leaned back to deposit his empty beer can down the back of the seat. He leaned over to pull another can of beer from the box between JT’s feet then he snapped it open and took a drink. Outside the blur of Heathcote as seen from a vehicle travelling ninety kilometres per hour whirled by.

“Would it kill you, Beattie, if we slowed down a little. I mean what’s the rush, we will get there when we get there,” Axe said.

“You two are the ones that didn’t want to stay in Bendigo.”

JT took a beer from the box and snapped it open.

“Now,” Beattie continued, “You’ve got him drinking as well and I’m here driving us.”

“I’d have stayed in Bendigo if anyone asked,” said JT.

“Throw me one then,” Beattie said.

Axe pulled one from the box.

“I can have a couple, but I know what they are like when you start getting close to the city. Cops everywhere.”

They tore straight through Bolinda and Axe had to grab hold of the seat either side of his knees to keep him from sliding onto JT as the back wheels of the ute lost grip for a second and the tail of the ute kicked out.

“Forchrisake, Beattie, where’s the God damned fire? This is the best part, cruising down, the anticipation.”

“Maybe for you.”

A sign warned that the speed limit was being enforced by speed detection cameras and Beattie slowed to five kilometres over the limit.

“Last thing we want is a fine from Melbourne to be sent out to the old man,” Beattie said and the two others chuckled.

“Bloody oath,” Axe said.

Fourty-five minutes later the ute rolled along Swan street, Richmond. Shuffling a few hundred metres at a time behind a tram. They passed a bar with people, city people, standing outside smoking cigarettes. Girls in dresses that stopped halfway down their thighs. The three of them watched, waiting for the tram to begin moving again. Beattie sniffed.

At the first free park they could find, Beattie wheeled the old ute into it. They were beside a bar that looked just as run down on the inside as it did on the outside. He stretched his arms behind his head, cracking his knuckles.

“Good as place as any to start,” he said.

“Well we are here now, aren’t we.”

“Better than them places back toward the city. I’m not about to line up just for a beer. You happy with this place JT?”

JT nodded.

“Wouldn’t want to go deciding for everyone.”

“It looks fine. We can start off here.”

JT straightened his shirt out with his palms. He took a look at the sign. Then leaned forward to look through the windows. It was dark and there was a boar of a man leaning against the door frame. If he wasn’t dressed all in black you’d think he was looking for trouble, maybe he was. Paint flaked away from the brick and the faded sign above the door read, The Terminus.

“After you,” Beattie said. Axe led them into the bar, nodding at the bouncer as they passed.