The red glow in the distance grew into smoke and forest fire. They could smell the fumes of it through their vents and the only traffic on the road was driving the opposite way. Other cars, loaded with luggage and pieces of furniture, beeped at them as they roared by, but Dettie kept heading forward, towards the blaze.
The weight of the sun made Sam’s eyelids heavy, and when he tried to remind himself of being at home, he found he couldn’t remember the sensation of anything in particular. The smell of their kitchen, the feel of his mattress, his mother’s voice; all he knew now was the numbness of his car seat, vibrating, rocking him ever so slightly, and the heat. There had always been this heat. Always the dust. And always the three of them.
For a moment he wondered if Jon had just been a dream from which he’d woken. Another lie. The memory of his accent seemed so strange, like some tropical birdcall. But he could feel the cardboard of Jon’s sign between his fingers. He could see the tiny boomerang swinging from the rear-vision mirror. And behind him, he knew Katie was still clinging to one of Jon’s weathered flannel shirts.
The grinding in the engine went on, even louder than before, and when Sam placed his hand on the dashboard he could feel the vibration of the fan belt. He could picture the way it was thrashing about beneath the bonnet.
A handwritten sign whipped past, warning that the road ahead was closed, but Dettie didn’t flinch or even slow down.
‘Oh, my head,’ she groaned, digging deeply into her temple, her papery skin stretched. ‘My head.’ Her teeth were clenched. ‘That blasted noise.’
Another sign—this one singed at the edges—shot by.
‘Jon could have fixed it,’ Katie said. She spoke quietly, her lip trembling, but she was staring at her aunt’s eyes in the rear-vision mirror.
Dettie looked dazed. Her hair was matted into knots and her skin was pasty. When she spoke she seemed to be returning from somewhere far away, retracing every sentence in her mind. ‘Pardon?’ she said.
‘Jon could have fixed the noise. He did before.’
Dettie scoffed. A laugh that turned into a cough. ‘Well, if he did, he didn’t do a very good job.’
‘Yes, he did!’
Dettie sighed heavily. It took a moment for her eyelids to lift again. ‘I honestly don’t know why you keep getting so worked up,’ she said. ‘He went his way. We went ours.’
Katie sat forward, stretching her seatbelt. ‘What did you do to him?’
‘I mean, it’s not as if he’s your father—’
‘What did you say to make him go away?’
‘Please. Stop this, girl. Stop it.’ Dettie’s voice trembled.
‘What did you say?’
‘We’ve made it this far now. Just—please. You’ll be back with Ted soon enough.’
Katie’s face fell. Her fists, balled white, released. ‘Who’s Ted?’ she said, her eyes wide, welling with tears.
‘What?’ Dettie rubbed the bridge of her nose.
‘You said Ted. Who’s Ted?’
‘Roger, I said.’ She thumped the wheel with her palm. ‘I mean, Donald. Back with Donald. Your father.’
‘Why did you say Ted?’
‘Katie! That’s enough!’
When Dettie yelled the car shook, lurching across the road and into the path of an oncoming ute. The driver beeped furiously, flashing his lights, and the caravan attached behind lurched heavily. Dettie yelped, wrestling the car back in place, and Katie screamed, clinging to her seatbelt. The ute roared past, still honking.
‘You see? You see, girl? Do you want us to get killed? I am too busy to be playing these games all the time!’
Trembling, Katie sat back in her seat, silent, and began stuffing blankets and clothing around her self. Sam’s heart was racing, and the rattle in the engine suddenly seemed more ominous, as though the car were about to shake apart at any moment, scattering itself across the gravel.
They drove on that way for another few minutes, the air becoming ferociously hot. Ahead of them, parked halfway into the dry scrub, a small fire truck stood at the base of a large plume of white smoke. It looked abandoned, but its hoses were still fixed to its taps, throbbing like fat yellow snakes, stretched across the steaming road and into the bushes. Sam couldn’t see the fire-fighters through the haze, but as Dettie slowed to pass the truck, he could hear shouts through the crackle of flame. Amid the shifting blurs of orange and grey he thought he could see silhouettes.
Once they had rounded the blockage, Sam caught a glimpse of more blackened animals fallen in the dirt. This time it was birds, their bodies charred, what was left of their feathers splayed and smouldering. The sight of so many at once made him want to vomit. He had to choke down the sensation, his head heavy. It was just like the first time he’d seen the dead kangaroo, but this time his vision didn’t fade. He could see it all clearly, without wanting to turn away. Somehow he wanted to remember it.
And as he stared at their shrivelled, steaming forms, illuminated by shafts of sunlight that cut through the smoke, Dettie kicked at the accelerator and the car sped on.