THE FAIRLANE coughed. Please start. Cough. Please God, Jesus in the door, Dean Cola, let it start. Cough. Cough. Roar. The smell of petrol. Thank you.

Sidney remembered Faye letting the car warm up on cold mornings. While Sidney did that, she called Aubrey again. No answer.

<go up hill Coke up hill upheaval stick run together>

She drove slowly up the driveway, and out onto Broken River Road. The steering wheel slipped in her gloves, so she took them off.

A couple of cars overtook her on the highway before she turned onto the back road. It was smoother than it used to be. Firewood was stacked in piles outside the far-between houses. Rusted letterboxes made from milk cans stood next to school bus-stop signs. The trees in the orchards were losing their leaves. Ghosts of memories faded in and out like dissolves in a film-montage sequence.

Kissing you. A flash of moon behind clouds. Headlights in the rear-view mirror. Grass, earth, screaming, broken glass.

<repent stupid repent to the river die die die do it do it do it>

She turned on the radio. An ad for Strepsils. A car show in town with donations going to the local hospital. Never been a better time to get into a Merribell Home and land package. After a frosty start, a mostly sunny day expected with a top of twenty-six degrees. A Red Hot Chili Peppers song.

Sidney wondered what had happened to DJ Groffy. Had he left the small pond to spin discs in some city? Or ended up working in the cannery?

Trees arched, reaching for each other, but not quite touching, their shadows lying across the road. A cream convertible, ZEPHYR across the bonnet, appeared in the Fairlane’s rear-view mirror. Too close. Sidney frowned and gripped the wheel as tightly as her hands could. Finally, the Zephyr pulled out to overtake. It drove alongside for about a minute. The driver — a man in a blue velvet jacket — grinned, something dark that looked like a bug was caught between his front teeth. He knows. He can sense my superpowers growing.

When it became impossible to avoid the freeway, she merged into the traffic, jaw clenched, praying to God, Jesus in the door, and Dean Cola. A car beeped as it zoomed around her. She caught up to two slow-moving trucks travelling together, and stayed behind them, safe.

Ten kilometres or so later, she became impatient, her need to reach Aubrey urgent. She overtook the two trucks. All the traffic seemed to be moving too slowly, so she kept overtaking. It was hot in the Fairlane, where the air conditioner didn’t work. She wound down the window, and struggled out of the denim jacket while balancing the wheel with her knees.

The wind in her hair felt good. Driving felt good. Free. First thing she’d do when she got to Tasmania, after ordering adoption forms, was apply for a driver’s licence. She turned up the music.

The temperature dropped on the Melbourne side of the Great Dividing Range. The sky was woolly with grey clouds. The radio station died.

The Fairlane’s petrol gauge — if it was working — showed the tank was nearly empty, so she pulled into a service station at Kalkallo. She put on her gloves and went inside to ask an attendant to show her how to use the bowser. The attendant was young; he told Sidney he’d never seen a car as old as the Fairlane while he looked at the Supergirl ‘S’ on her chest. He knows my powers too.

Back behind the wheel, Sidney found a Melbourne radio station. The host played Taylor Swift’s new song. A sign. She had to get to Aubrey. Faster. She imagined Aubrey’s phone ringing, ringing, echoing, in the same place as Dean Cola’s.

<dead dead dead like Coke dead dead dead>

Close to Melbourne, the 90K blocks of land beneath power lines became 300K house-and-land resort-living packages amid bald hills and scrub. Sidney heard the siren before she saw the police car’s lights flashing. Shit. She slowed to the speed limit. The cops flew past in pursuit of another vehicle. Or morning tea. When they were out of sight, she looked down at her T-shirt, and floored it.