Catherine Jinks TheRoad (51 page)

‘No.’

‘Good. So we’re all agreed, then. Does anyone else have anything to say?’

No one did. The tight little knot of bodies began to unravel, Verlie heading for the Ford, Linda for the caravan. Noel took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

‘Do you think we’re on the wrong road, Dad?’ Peter asked him.

‘I don’t know. There has to be some explanation.’

‘Are we going to stop at a farm, in the morning?’

‘Probably. I don’t know.’

‘I can’t remember seeing one, can you? Not since the white letterbox. Do you think we should go back there?’

‘I don’t
know
, Peter! Please – it’s late, all right? Let’s not talk about this until we’ve had a bit of a rest.’

Peter fell back, startled. His father was not a man normally given to edgy outbursts; Noel was clearly far more shaken than Peter had realised. All this talk of guns couldn’t be helping, of course, because Noel regarded firearms with great suspicion. And if someone had been shot ...Peter didn’t know exactly what had happened, because nobody would tell him . . . but if someone
had
been shot, and they were all stuck out here, unable to reach the police or call a hospital . . .

‘It’s all right, Peter,’ Noel said, apparently trying to make amends for his brusque response to an innocent question. ‘It’ll be okay. Just go and help Mrs Harwood in the caravan. Things will get better in the morning.’

Peter wanted to believe that. He wanted very much to believe that they would soon reach Broken Hill, or that someone would miss them and send out a search party. People were bound to start asking questions before long, weren’t they? The Fergusons were expected home tomorrow, after all. And Alec worked for a big company. His boss would be wanting to know where he was.

‘What normally happens when you don’t show up for work?’ Peter asked Alec, stopping beside the truck driver’s silent and solitary figure just a short distance from the caravan. ‘Do they send out an alert, or something?’

Alec’s face was in shadow, and difficult to read.

‘I dunno,’ he said.

‘There must be rules about what to do, if you break down.’

‘You call for help.’

‘
Did
you call for help?’

‘I couldn’t. Me phone’s dead.’

‘Oh.’

They looked at each other for a moment. Something about Alec’s silhouette, with its tightly muscled shoulders and the rifle weighing down one arm, made Peter suddenly blurt out: ‘
You
didn’t shoot anyone, did you?’

‘Me?’
Alec sounded appalled. ‘Shit, no!’