I’m miles from nowhere. Stupid cop nosing around where she isn’t welcome. If only she could see the video footage of her face through the window. Hilarious.
There’s no choice but to dump this thing —it will serve a new purpose.
It’s exhausting bailing out other people. If they did their jobs then my life would be easier. And I like easier.
The GPS on my phone says there’s a turn ahead. With no street lights it’s nearly impossible to see. I passed the railway station a few minutes ago. No train until dawn but the walk back to it will fill the time. I turn onto a dirt road.
By the time I’m finished, nobody should find the vehicle but if someone stumbles upon it, the location will misdirect the cops. Unless you’re controlling the game, there’s no point playing. What has to happen next is co-operation. Unlike stupid David Weaver. That’s a lesson for the others to heed.
A kangaroo bounds across the track and I brake. This is their territory, not mine.
The GPS is useless now. Connecting and dropping out thanks to crappy rural networks. But I’ve memorised the rest of the way. The van doesn’t like the terrain. Not built for country roads.
Better not break down.
I let out a breath when we reach the top of the hill. The worst of the drive is over.
The road is little more than a single track now. I’m crawling to avoid potholes and not end up in the ditch. When there is nothing ahead but a dead-end, I drop into first gear and nudge my way into a gap between bushes. Branches scrape along the roof and sides. The squeal as they scratch the paint is music to my ears.
I turn off the motor and begin to clean. Once the interior is spotless I climb out and kill the headlights. I wipe the switch, close the door, and clean that.
With barely any space to exit, I manage to cut my arm on thorns. Once free of the bushes I clean the wound. Nothing more than a couple of grazes. From the track there is no sign of the vehicle.
Satisfying.
I light a cigarette and begin the long walk to the train station.