Nearly half an hour had passed with Spencer switching between running, jogging and walking in the middle of that road. Not a single car had passed. So many paddocks, yet no houses. None. Where were the farmers? Where did they live?
Spencer thought about the fact that he was on a sort of ring-road, and he had no idea if, when he’d turned left onto it, that was the quicker route to the caravan park. He might have been five minutes from the place for all he knew, if only he’d turned right! He couldn’t get lost at this point, he thought, and laughed out loud, slightly uneasily. What if you had that memory disease Reg’s wife had, Alzheimer’s? He imagined having no idea what he was doing, why he was there, which was the way home.
He looked at his watch. Focus, Spence. Stop thinking rubbish. He’d been going in this direction for thirty minutes. He couldn’t turn back now. He had to stick with it, as Mum would say. Stick it out. The caravan park might be just around the corner.
Nearly 9.30am. Where’d that chopper go? He ground his teeth, imagining they’d found the crash site and that paramedics were helping Dad at that very moment.
Then he imagined the opposite happening: the chopper flying over the crash site, and not seeing it. And flying on. Leaving Dad, all alone.
In panic, Spencer walked and ran and walked and ran. Eventually, he could only walk, jelly-legged.