The engine ticked as it cooled. Cars swept by along the road. Sam’s legs were heavy and his shoes scraped in the dust and loose gravel. Waves of heat rippled from the ground. He shuffled closer to his aunt and sister. They were already standing over the lump of matted fur, looking down at it, and Katie shook, weeping. The sight of the animal, its brown mass, was too much for Sam to take in all at once. His mind seemed to break it apart into pieces.
Dettie was waving flies away from her face. She bowed her head, took both children by the shoulder, and hugged them to her hips. ‘This, Sammy, is what I was always talking about. You remember? What lies on the other side of that fight to survive. When you give up.’
Flies were squabbling in its baked blood.
Katie choked, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
‘Oh, now don’t be upset, little one,’ Dettie said. ‘This is just what happens out here. Out in the wild.’
Spikes of matted fur were encrusted with dirt.
‘It’s dangerous. That’s why we all have to stick together. Keep each other safe.’
Strips of skin, like carpet, hung back from its pearly muscle.
‘Aw. Don’t feel bad. See how peaceful he is? So still? You’d almost think he was sleeping.’
Her thumb was burrowed into his shoulder, but Sam was only vaguely aware of it. He wondered what his aunt was even talking about. Peaceful? Giving up? It had obviously been hit by a car. Its chest was crushed and bloodied by the impact. Its front paws were twisted. It didn’t look at peace. It hadn’t just laid down on the road and decided to die. A tingling feeling was crawling up his skin. The animal’s mouth was torn up in a ragged sneer.
‘But that’s not us,’ Dettie was saying. ‘We’ve got a long trip, and we’ve got each other, and we’re not going to let anything stop us. Are we?’
An exposed pupil bulged through its rubbery eyelid. Lightheaded, Sam leant his face against his aunt’s blouse and inhaled her thick scent of smoke. Blotchy ripples drifted across his vision. A fly crept across the animal’s eyeball.
Katie howled.
Dettie’s voice was fading to a murmur. ‘We can all pray for him if it’ll make you feel better.’
Ants, swarms of them, rippled beneath it on the gravel. At first Sam thought it was a shadow, but they surged, dark and liquid. He could feel them. It was as though they were covering his own body, crawling, swirling. The twisted head. Its rigid, bent arms. The long motionless tail. The stench. All of it swarmed over him at once. It was roadkill—or that’s what it was now. Before, it had been a kangaroo. Now it wasn’t. Now he was staring down at it, rotting on the side of the road.
The spit in Sam’s mouth went slack. His sight blackened and the oxygen drained from his head.