Turning The Knives 8

Michael awoke. The car was off, the music had stopped, and Gaea was gone. Out the front of the car stretched a barren red plain, coated in dry-green Spinifex. A few scraggly trees and termite mounds dotted the landscape. The ground here looked bone dry. The pale wispy clouds gave no indication of the storms following them here.

“A little over eight hours princess,” Gaea’s voice drifted through the open window. Michael turned to see her over by the fuel valve. “It’s half past two already.”

“Jeez I’m starving,” Michael said. “And thirsty too.”

“Bloody oath,” said Gaea. “That’s why we stopped.”

“Kangaroos and our own piss?”

“Look behind you stupid.”

Michael turned around. “Wha’,” he started. Standing in the middle of the desert was a small, run down building with a few fuel bowsers; one of which Gaea was using to fill up the car. Some dusty vehicles were parked under a dying tree next to the building.

“Capricorn roadhouse,” said Gaea.

“You’re kidding?” said Michael. He lowered his voice. “We’re walking right into their hands.”

“Dad was out of fuel and we need to eat. We had to take the risk. Besides, what can these desert dwellers do? There’s no police force out here. They gonna set the camels on us or something?”

Michael cocked his head and eyed his sister strangely.

“Okay, bad joke,” she said, chuckling. “Still, you know what I mean. Hell, we’d outnumber the staff anyway; there’s only two old men and some anorexic peacocks.”

“Anorexic peacocks? We’re in trouble then.”

“Come on, mum’s inside buying food.”

Michael flung his door open. As he stepped out, he noticed the heat shimmer on the horizon. His back was drenched in sweat. “Hot,” he said, staggering towards the building.

“You ‘right Mike?” said Nigel. Michael turned his head in the direction of the voice. He hadn’t noticed his father standing there before, filling the ute up from the truck diesel bowser which was further away from the building.

“Yeah,” Michael croaked. His throat felt dry and powdery.

As soon as he stepped into the building, he was blasted by cool, conditioned air. It felt soft, compared to the sharp, dry, hot desert air outside. His mother and grandmother sat at a spindly looking metal table with a newspaper. They looked distraught. Michael walked over and took a rather uncomfortable seat.

“How are you,” said Annabelle, sliding the newspaper over to him. She quickly flicked her eyes downward to an article as she spoke.

“Not bad,” said Michael absently as he looked at the article. The headline; Denmark murderers flee North.

Michael’s heart sunk. He did his best to hide his reaction, lest the man at the counter notice. His eyes scanned down the page.

On May 27th, five farmers from Denmark, Western Australia are alleged to have killed three police officers when they attempted to search the property for illicit drugs. The ringleader, Nigel Dickson, has been a suspect in drug trafficking for over a year now. Police who later searched the property seized large quantities of methamphetamine and cannabis.

However, the perpetrators were nowhere to be seen. 13 minutes later, they killed another policeman at a service station in Denmark, before fleeing north. They were seen at 6:30 a.m, May 28th passing Leonora in a white tray-back Toyota Hilux and a red hardtop Suzuki Sierra.

The perpetrators include an adult and adolescent male, and three females, adult, adolescent and elderly. Please report any sightings to crime stoppers.

Also take note that the police force has declared that vigilante justice will be acceptable to bring these killers down, but approach with caution. They are armed and dangerous.

Michael re-scanned the document several times, unable to believe what it said. Drugs? The media was making them out to be drug smuggling, murderers. What chance did they have with the whole world against them?

Gaea and Nigel stepped through the door. Michael looked grimly at them. Judging by their expressions, they were unaware of their predicament. They sat down at the table.

“Whatcha get?” said Nigel.

“Hamburgers and water,” said Annabelle, pointing at the paper. Nigel and Gaea looked at the paper, and simultaneously, their expressions turned to despair. Nigel’s head moved left to right as he quickly scanned the paper. His lips moved silently. Once he was finished he simply looked up at Annabelle, disbelief painted on his face, and shook his head.

At that moment, an old man appeared next to their table holding a plastic tray. He set it down on top of the paper, then disappeared to get their drinks. Michael slowly picked up one of the burgers and raised it to his mouth. A piece of lettuce hanging out shook in time with his hands. He took a slow bite of the tasteless roadhouse food.

“Don’t worry,” said Nigel. “They haven’t killed us yet. Hopefully they haven’t read this yet. We’ll just eat up, pay and leave.”

The waiter reappeared with five large bottles of water. He set them down and left. Michael caught a nervous glance from him as he turned to leave. He dropped his eyes to the bucket of chips in front of him and grabbed a handful.

“So where exactly are we going?” whispered Gaea once the waiter was gone.

“Through Newman and up the Nullagine road. That leads to Marble Bar. Then we’ll head inland,” said Nigel. “Don’t talk about it though. They might be listening.”

Despite not eating for over forty hours, the food didn’t seem to want to go down. The sudden realisation of how much danger they were in took precedence over hunger. Still, Michael forced the greasy food down. There was no saying how long they’d be without sustenance.