A Shot at Freedom (6 page)

Chapter
Nine

David

“Where are you from?” the truck driver asked, popping more macadamias into his mouth. He offered some to David, but David looked at them rolling around in the man’s puffy greased up hands and declined. He still couldn’t believe he had to sit outside the Big Pineapple for two hours while the guy reminisced about a lost childhood.

The driver cleared his throat again
, and flexed his meaty arms. “Going to see your family?”

David rolled a shirt up and used it as a pillow against the window.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

David fixed his eyes on the highway
, grateful for the occasional bend in the road breaking the scenery. He’d never been that far north before.

“A dog
?...A cat?...A blue budgie by the name of Barney?...I have all of them see?” The truck driver said rolling up his sleeves, twisting his arms from side to side, showing off portraits of the pets, his mother and then exposing his hairy chest to a chorus of dancing girls. “Better than taking photos to jail. Can look at them any time I want.”

David close
d his eyes, pretending not to care, peering through the haze of his lashes at the rows of banana trees and pineapple farms each side of the road. Farm houses on stilts with wide gaping verandas, prepared for floods he’d heard about but never seen in his lifetime. It was all new, a different and distant place to be. To exist where nobody knew him made everything different. With each bump, his temple tapped at the glass. It felt good.

The tattooed truck driver sighed. “Man
, I thought you’d help me pass the time.”

***

David

Away from the
shadow of the truck, David rolled a sleeping bag out in the grass. With only the moonlight to guide him, he settled in to sketch the land around him, flat with hills in the distance. It was his way of recording his life. Some took photos and forgot what it really felt like to be there. But sketching made sure he took the time to drink it all in. A Queenslander with light streaming out through the windows was the focal point. Cane toads slapped across the quiet highway, two of them stopping to mate on the white line. He captured it on the page.

The truck driver lugged an
Esky and a metal fold-up chair out of the truck. A burp erupted from his throat, as he settled in beside David, taking a swig from a can hidden in a cooler. “You need some light there mate?”

David twitched but shook his head.
“Nup. My eyes can see just fine.”

“So you like drawing?”

“It keeps me sane.”

The truck driver snorted, and took a couple of gulps. He
looked down at the can in admiration. “So does a good full can.”

“I bet it does,” David said, his eye following the outline of the tree branch as he ran his pencil over the page.

The truck driver reached down into the Esky and rolled a rum and cola onto David’s sleeping bag. It came to rest against his leg, cold. David nudged it away. “Not for me.”

“Ah, have it. It’ll help
ya sleep,” the truck driver said, opening another can with a spurt.

Lost in the scene,
David played with the leaves of the tree, shadowing light to dark with his pencils.

“Well, it helps me anyway. Otherwise I lay in my truck at night feeling the rattle of the wheel up my arms and hearing the hum of the open road.
A guy needs his sleep.”

His fingers shifted to the outer edge of the page and worked on the
truckie’s bulging profile.

***

David stretched, relieving the ache in his back. He admired the completed sketch in front of him, only becoming aware of where he was when the snores of the truck driver drifted out the open truck window.

After tucking the sketchbook safely into his bag, he dragged his sleeping bag into the shadow of the truck and wriggled into it
. Settling in for sleep, he tried to lose himself in the sounds of the night time. But all he could hear were the snores, snores that reminded him of his father, snores he never thought he would ever hear again.

He rolled onto his side and covered his ears with his sleeping bag
and tried again. Between wake and sleep, he heard
her
voice say hello, and laugh. He stiffened, struggled out of the sleeping bag, and kicked it aside. With feet firmly planted, he stood facing a thicket of gum trees, unzipped his jeans and peed.

Snores rumbled around him, louder than before. David
plonked down on the Esky, his head in his hands, long fingers massaging his skull. He leant over and belted the cabin, four metallic thunks. The earth quietened to such silence he swore he could hear it turn, as he prayed that the truck driver wouldn’t come barrelling out to beat the crap out of him.

The snoring resumed.

David swore. He pulled at the catch on the Esky, stood and lifted the lid, staring down at the cans swimming in iced water. He snatched two out and strode along the empty highway skolling them, raising a finger to a passing car with their headlights on high beam, honking their horn, long and loud.

***

Daylight.

Loud laughing,

Stupid jokes that scared the shit out of you…

David made a
mental list of all the things that pissed him off as he rattled along in the truck, hungover.

“You know, I killed someone once. I got so angry I got my hands and just squeezed their neck so tight their eyes popped out
,” the truck driver boasted.

“Really?”
David replied, bleary eyed.

“Dunno. But that’s how I
think I remember it, from what everyone said afterwards.”

David wanted him to shut the hell up.

“His eyes looked shit scared. And his face went blue then purple.”

“I thought you didn’t remember.”

“I didn’t.”

“
So what are your plans for me then?”

“I’
ve thought about my options. Had plenty of opportunities.”

David glanced down at the door handle.

The truckie activated central locking.

David
lifted his gaze to the road in front and held it steady, taking in the lines of sugar cane.

The truck driver chortled under his breath
, covering his mouth. He released the locks. “No need to worry about me kid. Nothing bad enough ever happens to make me that mad anymore.”

“Sick sense of humour don’t you think?”

“You didn’t flinch.”

“
I’m used to big sick bastards like you, having a joke at my expense.”

“It’s all about having nothing to lose, isn’t it?”

“Yep. That’s me. Nothing more to lose.”

“How free do you feel? Look at th
at road. We can keep going, you know, anywhere we want. I’ll keep sleeping in the back there and cook on that little gas stove, long after you’ve left me. No worries about tomorrow.”

“Nothing more to lose,” David said, letting the words roll over his tongue.

“So what’d you have to lose before?”

It was David’s turn to laugh.
“My dog.”

“Yeah?

“Yeah. She died. Most gorgeous jet black coat ever. Now I’ve got nothing more to lose.”

“You’re a little
bullshitter, aren’t ya?”

“Yep.”

“Well good luck to ya, kid.”

A memory of
Her
face floated through his mind. She pulled a face, giggled and walked away from him, through the school crowd. A place he never wanted to see again. A place she always looked so perfect and at home.

Nothing more to lose.

Chapter
Ten

Brooke

The jiggling bunk bed woke her all through the night, but she dozed through sunrise. High-pitched beeping bounced through the house, the first phone call of the day. Brooke peeled her eyes open, still in a strange bed, still hideously aware that David had left her.

Natasha
tossed around in the bunk above. “Who the fuck is the fucker who’s fuckin’ awake at six in the fucking morning. FUCK!”

Brooke peered at her watch, and rolled over
. “It’s after seven.”

“Fuck up!”

In the hallway, a door opened and closed, keys jangling, knocks began on each of the doors as the worker passed. “First ones out to the lounge room get first pick of the morning chores.” Feet thumped to the floor, doors flew open and the softness of bare feet scampered over bare floorboards.

Y
awning, Brooke dragged her heavy head off the pillow, sleepy eyes drawn to the clothes erupting from her bag. She unplugged her phone and cradled it.

“Whatever’s left make sure you pick the worst
chore. I’ve been here longer. I’ve earned my way to better chores
and
a sleep in.”

“How will I know what’s wors
t?”

Natasha lifted her head and gaped at her,
like she was moronic. “Just pick the bathrooms.”

***

Lavender bubbled in the oil burner. The morning light reflected off the bright white walls of the office. Brooke settled in on the couch, nursing a cup of milky coffee, aware all of a sudden that Josie had been yabbering on about something and stopped.

“What?”
she asked, shaking her head as though to clear it.

“
Wake up sleepy-head,” Josie smiled. “I was saying your mother called this morning. I spoke to her first thing.”

“She knows where I am?”

“The number came up on her phone. Caller ID. She wrote it down.”

“We don’t have caller ID.”

“It doesn’t take much to get a new phone. Relax. She’s not coming here.”

Brooke settled back in
to the cushions. “Well, why isn’t she?”

“So you want her to come?”

“No,” Brooke said, smoothing a crease out of her shirt. “It’s just strange that’s all.”

“She wants you home, Brooke.”

“But not enough to come and get me.”

“She wants you to want to come home.”

“I don’t want to. I said that last night. I have to find David.”

“She told me his father died.
Did you know his mother shot him?”

Brooke felt the heaviness of the silence
enshroud them like smog. “I got the messages.”

“David’s your friend
’s name isn’t it?”

Brooke nodded.

“Does he know?”

“That’s a big reason why I need to keep looking for him. I don’t think he knows.
He would have said something.” Brooke’s chest tightened. She couldn’t work out why it was so hard for her to breathe.

“Is it really your duty to tell him?”

“Duty? I don’t get what you mean.” Brooke shook her head, feeling vacant. Light flickered through the vertical blinds. She closed her eyes and could still see the shadows on her lids.

Josie waited.

Brooke found something to say. “Did she say what happened? When she shot him? Why?”

“You really don’t know anything.”

“Not much.”

“It happened the night you and David left.”

Brooke felt something swirl up from to centre of her stomach sweeping through her mind. “Huh?”

“Your mother said things were complicated.”

My mother.
A person to blame. “I told her not to go over there. Something bad always happens when she does.”

“Is it possible that it had something to do with you and David leaving?”

“How?” Brookes mouth went dry. She eyed off Josie’s water bottle. “As if…”

“Your mother seems to think with David gone his mum had nothing to lose.”

Brooke picked at her fingernails. “There may be some truth in that,” she said quietly. “Did she say if anyone has heard from David?”

Josie shook her head
. “I think she would have mentioned that. We spoke for a while.”

“I’m not going home until I find him.”

***

Tyler reeked of stale nicotine
and fresh deodorant. Brooke smelt him behind her before she felt the boards bow. He sat down on the front steps beside her, way too close, with two coffees, offering her one. She took it even though the first coffee of the day had just kicked in.

The shelter was on the high side of the street.  It was a street of old houses, bought by young people, renovated and made new again. The footpaths, rough with roots from tall trees, gave the age of the area away. The grass was only able to grow in
sunny patches.

A van pulled up out front, and a guy hopped out of the driver’s seat, coming around to haul open the side sliding door.
He looked like another youth worker. “Out you get mate,” she heard him say.