For Sale Or Swap (12 page)

The truck wove along the empty streets. Shelby tried
to remember each turn they made, but every time the
truck swung to the left, the top of her head banged
against the cabin's vinyl side, and she couldn't tell
whether they were joining a new street or just going
around a bend in the road. She tucked her chin
to her chest, closed her eyes and thought about
her mum.

The blanket was scratchy. It smelt like off milk and
dog. Shelby was itchy all over, and she had a horrible
idea that it might be covered in fleas. She wanted to
move and scratch, but she was sure that even the
tiniest movement would give her away.

Mr Morgan cleared his throat, the seat creaked,
and then the radio came on. He flipped through the
channels. The speaker was right behind her ears. She
touched the speaker's wire mesh and could feel it
vibrate against her palm.

The sour-milk smell was making her stomach
churn. Shelby pulled the blanket down from the top
half of her face and took a breath of the relatively
fresh air. Mr Morgan's clothes carried the scent of
lucerne hay. He didn't smell like a bad man. He smelt
like horses.

Shelby wondered what she would do if Blue was
wherever they were headed. She didn't have a halter, a
bridle, or even a rope. If they were in the bush she
could ride him bareback, hold onto his mane and
steer him with her legs. She'd done it before in the
paddock hundreds of times, but along the road was
different – especially after what had happened with
Brat. Poppy – she had to start remembering her
with that name.

What if Blue was different now? What if this
man had been cruel to him and he'd lost his trust in
people? Shelby bit her lip hard.

Then a worse idea crossed her mind. What would
she do if Blue wasn't there?

On television kids caught villains all the time, and
while the music was scary, they hardly ever stopped to
think about their mums. When the baddies caught
them they never cried. They were always brave and
used their brains to get out of trouble, but Shelby was
finding it hard to think because her heart was still
beating really fast, her muscles felt sore from lying at
a funny angle and there was a ringing in her ears that
could have been from the loudness of the speaker but
might also be because she had been so scared for such
a long time.

The truck hit another pothole and she could feel
pins and needles streak up her arm. The papers she'd
grabbed were in her fist. She couldn't look at them
yet. He might hear her. She hoped the truck would
stop soon.

Out the window Shelby glimpsed streaks of orange
between the branches of the highest trees. It would be
light before too much longer, and she was sure that
her hiding place would be discovered.

Lindsey was probably awake by now. She always
got up early to feed the horses. Shelby wondered if she
would get in even more trouble from her mother when
they found Shelby was missing. She wondered if
Lindsey had seen Mr Morgan when the arena lights
came on. Maybe they had called the police already?

She wished Lindsey was with her. She wasn't all
that much fun at a party, but when there was a
problem Lindsey always seemed to make calm and
sensible suggestions. She was also very strong with all
the lifting and carrying she had to do around the
stables. Shelby would have liked to have someone
tough with her. She'd feel a lot braver then.

Mr Morgan slowed the truck down and took a
sharp turn. Suddenly the road was much rougher.
The engine grunted as it crawled along. Shelby could
hear the crunching sound of the wheels over gravel,
and the 'tink' noise of pebbles hitting the underside of
the vehicle. The branches of the trees overhead
scraped along the roof.

They stopped and the front door squeaked as
Mr Morgan opened it. He left the engine running.
Shelby tipped her head back to risk a peek out of the
side window. She saw him opening a heavy metal gate.

Beyond the gate she saw a cream-coloured weatherboard
house. Even from here she could see that
the paint was flaking. There was a small garden at the
front of the house that might have been attractive once,
but was now overgrown and weedy. To the right of the
driveway and extending down the side of the house was
a paddock, and she could just make out a swishing
horse tail. Blue was there. She was sure of it.

Mr Morgan dragged the gate across the drive,
and as he returned to the truck, Shelby ducked down,
pulling the blanket over her head again.

The truck swayed as Mr Morgan climbed back
inside, drove through the gate and up the driveway.
He stopped to close the gate behind him, and then
swung the truck around sharply in front of the house,
where he turned the engine off. Shelby could hear a
dog running across the gravel, barking, and it jumped
up – its claws hitting the window above her head.
Shelby wondered if it could sense her.

'G'day, Rusty. How are ya, boy?'

Shelby lay still. She could hear Mr Morgan talking
to the dog as he disappeared behind the truck. After
she was sure that he wasn't going to come back,
Shelby wrenched the blanket away from her face and
took a deep breath, relieved to have the stench away
from her nose and mouth.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity
Shelby moved her legs. They were stiff and numb. She
had no idea how long they had been driving, but she
believed – hoped – it hadn't been so long, because if
they were not far away, she might recognise where she
was and be able to find her way home.

She pulled the papers out from underneath her body
and looked at them. It was just junk mail – a flyer for a
plant sale and one for roof repairs. She scrunched them
up. It didn't matter any more. She would find Blue and
they would go home together.

Shelby crept forward and peeked out of the window
on the passenger side. Mr Morgan had his back to her
as he stood at the front door of the house, fumbling
with his keys. The dog – a lanky German shepherd –
was next to him and Mr Morgan stroked its ears. After
a moment he found the right key and opened the door.

'Not you, Rusty,' the man said, shutting the door
before the dog could get inside.

Shelby sat back on her heels and thought. She
couldn't keep hiding in the truck. He might not have
seen her the first time, but it had been dark. She was
sure he wouldn't miss her a second time.

Her hands were clammy. She wiped them on the
thighs of her pants. She looked out the passenger side
window again. She should run away. It might be
possible to run down the driveway without him seeing.
What about the dog? He didn't look vicious, but he
would probably bark at her when she climbed out of
the truck. She would have a head start, but Mr
Morgan's legs were longer. He would be able to catch
up, and then what would happen?

Shelby sighed as she admitted to herself that she
was too frightened to get out of the truck. She just
wanted to be at home on the lounge with her parents
on either side of her, and perhaps drinking a tall glass
of chocolate milk.

Finally she slipped over to the front seat, keeping a
close eye on the house, but there was no movement.
She carefully opened the door and slid out. As soon
as her feet touched the gravel of the driveway the
dog started to bark. She felt cold adrenalin blossom
in her belly and for an instant she was frozen to
the spot.

'Shut up, Rusty!' came a muffled voice from inside
the house. Shelby stood still and after a moment the
dog trotted around the side of the truck, wagging his
tail. She held out her hand and the dog moved
towards it, sniffing and licking at her fingers. He let
out one more yap and then stayed silent.

Shelby tiptoed around to the front of the truck.
There were flimsy curtains over the front windows,
but Mr Morgan would still be able to see through. She
glanced over her shoulder to the driveway again. Her
thoughts were all a big jumble and she didn't have
time to properly think one through before another
tumbled around in her head like clothes in a dryer.

She could start running. If she got up enough speed
she could probably straddle the gate like they did
with the pommel horse in PE. She could see herself
swinging over it, legs straight and muscles taut like the
gymnasts in the Olympics. But what if it was higher
than it looked?

She could go through the paddock. That would
mean that the truck was between her and the window
of the house for most of the way. She could slip
through the fence at the far end.

Once she was out on the road she could find a
street sign and memorise the location of the house.
She might be able to convince her parents to bring her
back here to ask the man about Blue, or she could tell
the police. She would worry about all of that later.
Now she just wanted to get away.

But what if Blue is in the paddock – right here,
right now?

Shelby knew she would regret it later if she didn't
at least look.

She peered around the side of the truck. There was
no movement from inside the house. She took a deep
breath and scurried across the gravel to the side of the
house. The dog ran along beside her, wagging his tail.
Once she had made it she leaned her back against the
wall and let the air out of her lungs. She waited but
there was no sound from inside.

In the paddock at the side of the house five horses
stood dozing. Two of the horses pricked their ears
towards her. One of them was Blue's height, but it was
chestnut, and much stockier and thicker around the
neck; it looked like a Welsh pony.

No Blue.

From here she could see the opening to the shed at
the back of the house. Bales of hay were stacked in the
corner, and there was a ride-on mower. Behind the shed
was thick with scrub. It looked as though the place
backed onto some sort of bush reserve. If she could get
through the fence there, she could stay hidden in the
scrub while she worked her way around the property
boundary and back to the road.

Shelby sprinted across the weedy back lawn,
towards the bush.

Suddenly she heard the back screen door squeak
and she turned around. Mr Morgan stood with his
hand on the lever. He frowned when he saw Shelby.

'You!' he said.

He took a step towards her.

She moved backwards. A few sticks crackled under
her feet.

'What are you doing here?' He didn't look angry,
just confused.

Rusty started to bark and Shelby could hear the
crackly sound of tyres on the gravel driveway at the
front of the house. Mr Morgan turned his head
towards the sound. 'Who's that?' he asked.

Shelby didn't wait to find out. She turned towards
the scrubby bush and ran. She ducked under the fence
and, hearing Mr Morgan's footsteps running towards
her, pushed through the thick branches with her arms
protecting her face until she found a narrow trail.
Then she ran along it as fast as she could, until her
lungs were sore and a deep stitch was buried under
her ribcage.

The narrow path zigzagged through the scrub. It must
have been an animal track because it was only cleared
low down and the branches of the bushes thickened at
chest height. Her arms were raw with scratches, and
her eyes watered with the sting from twigs whipping
back into her face.

Shelby still thought she could hear Mr Morgan
pursuing her, crashing through the bushes and breathing
raggedly only a few paces behind her. He might
have followed for a little while, but after that it was
just her imagination. There was no crashing sound
except for the swinging of branches that she had
thrust out of her way.

Eventually the trail widened, and she stopped to
catch her breath on the edge of a long cleared strip of
land with tall, metal, X-shaped power poles running
down a gentle slope to the left, and up over the crest
of a hill to the right. Weaving underneath was a dirt
road, which must have been used by the electricity
company to maintain the power lines.

The sun was getting brighter and the first cicadas
began to screech from the trees above her. Shelby
could tell from the heavy stillness of the air that it was
going to be a real stinker of a day.

Shelby trudged to the top of the hill, and when she
reached the top she stood with her hands on her hips
looking over the valley below. It took a moment to get
her bearings, because the morning sunshine hit her
face on the left-hand side, and she was used to it being
on the right. She must be at the very far end of the
gully, near the abattoir. The stables must be somewhere
across the other side, and to the right.

If she followed the power poles into the gully until
she reached the creek, she could continue along the
water until she reached the causeway. From there it was
merely a matter of walking up the hill to the stables, or
taking the slightly longer route back to her house.
Shelby smiled to herself. She would be home before
lunchtime. Hopefully her mum would make hot dogs
with tomato sauce. She could eat about ten of them.

Shelby put her head down and started the long
trek home. There were lots of pebbles, rocks and
gravelly mounds of angry-looking ants. She had to
choose her path carefully. She didn't want to twist her
ankle again with such a long way to go.

Further along the road she saw a lizard basking in
the morning light. She was watching her feet so closely
that she almost walked over it. She let out a little surprised
'ooh!' and skirted around it, but it didn't move.
Further along a lone grey kangaroo stood on the edge
of the clearing, but as soon as it saw her it bounded
away into the bush.

Shelby was feeling so much better that she sang a
song. She started with some Beyonce, and then The
Corrs. She knew no one could hear, so she really
let loose. After that she belted out a Red Hot Chili
Peppers song, jumping up and down, nodding her head
and swinging an imaginary microphone stand.

Suddenly she heard a noise over the cicadas and she
stopped, blushing, and glanced around, wondering if
anyone had seen. At first it sounded like the rapid-fire
buzzing of a trail bike or a chainsaw, but then she saw
a helicopter. She stopped walking and looked up,
shading her eyes with her hand. It was unusual, because
they didn't normally fly so low.

Another few minutes down the road she stopped
again. The wheel ruts of the service road swung
around in a tight loop and the power lines dipped to
another pole further down the hill. Underneath, the
ground dropped away, and she found herself standing
on the edge of a small cliff made up of boulders
packed closely together. At the bottom the dirt road
started again, and continued on into the gully.

'Hmm,' she murmured. It was very steep. She
might be able to climb down using the boulders for
footholds, but what if one of them came loose? She
could imagine the whole thing crashing down and
leaving her broken and bleeding beneath. There had to
be a way around. There was impenetrable scrub on
the right-hand side, but on the left there was another
low animal path, like the one she had followed from
the house.

Shelby bent over double and made her way along.
Every now and then she saw a hole in the ground,
about as round as the tips of thumb and index finger
touching, and she eyed each one warily. Snake holes
on a hot summer's day. She hoped the occupants were
asleep, or busy elsewhere.

She had been pushing through the undergrowth for
some time before it occurred to her that she should be
heading downhill by now, if she was to return to the
bottom of the cliff. The path didn't seem to be turning
at all. She rotated on the spot and considered going
back. That would just leave her with the same
problem as before.

Perhaps she could make her own path? She made
her way between the trees to the right, stepping over
roots and small bushes, and ducking under the lower
branches. It was hard being bent over all the time, and
her thighs were sore from having to lift her legs up so
high with every step. She found it impossible to keep
a straight line because of the dense vegetation, but
whenever she veered in one direction, she tried to
correct it at the next opportunity.

After a while she turned right again. According to
her calculations she should be near the power lines
again. She looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the
cables overhead, but she saw nothing but the crooked
undersides of gum boughs.

'I'm lost,' she mumbled. Lost in the scrub. People
died in situations like this. They died of dehydration,
or exposure, or snakebite. She'd seen it on the news,
and who would know where to begin looking for her?
Nobody.

I could end up walking around in circles until I die
of thirst. They'll never find me
, she thought. Her
bones would be discovered one day, years from now,
by some random park ranger setting bandicoot traps.

'Mustn't panic,' she said, swallowing. Her mouth
was so dry all of a sudden. The day was really
warming up now. The cicadas were shrieking at full
throttle. For a few seconds they all chirped in time,
and it was so high-pitched and loud that it almost
sounded like a low thrumming in the middle of
her brain.

Shelby crashed through the bush, breathing heavily.
A branch thwacked her in the mouth and she could
taste the grittiness from the leaves. She closed her eyes
and kept moving forwards, crossing her forearms in
front of her face. Her shin hit an arching tree limb and
it ached. She tried to step over the branch, but didn't
lift her foot high enough and tripped. Her hand clipped
a narrow eucalyptus trunk on the way down and it
scraped some skin off her knuckles.

I'm panicking
, she thought. She scrambled back to
her feet and moved forward again, more carefully this
time. She was so thirsty. Each breath sent hot dry air
down her throat, and she felt as though it would crack
like the clay bottom of a dry creek bed.

All she needed to do was keep heading downhill. At
the bottom of the gully was the creek, and once she
found that she would be able to follow it, or at least
have a drink. Her mother had told her she shouldn't
drink from it because it was full of industrial runoff and
nasty bacteria, but Blue used to slurp it up all the time
and he survived. Besides, she was sure that even nasty
bacteria couldn't be as bad as this horrible parchedness.

Got to go downhill.

The undergrowth was so compact that it was hard
to tell which way was down, but as she made her way
through it, she sensed the slope beneath her feet.

She heard a buzzing motor again and stopped,
cocking her head to the side. It sounded much closer
this time and moving, so definitely a trail bike. She staggered
faster towards the sound. She pushed through a
particularly thick stretch of trees, with sappy-smelling
needles, and on the other side she found herself on a
trail – a proper, sandy, human trail.

She listened for a moment for the bike, and looked
along the trail, but there was no sign of it.
I imagined
it
, she thought.
It was a noise mirage
.

Shelby sat down to inspect the angry red welts and
grazes up her arms. Some of the scratches had formed
little beads of blood. None of them were too serious,
but now that she was sitting still they started to sting.
She rolled up the leg of her pants to examine her shin.

It had already turned a puffy grey-blue that would
make an impressive bruise the next day.

She looked up and down the trail again. The gully
was long, but it was finite, bordered on all sides by
houses. If she followed a proper human trail then
she would eventually end up on a street, or else in
someone's back yard. She had been heading left for so
long that it was probably the closest to civilisation,
but it was also the furthest away from home. The idea
of walking again made her feel exhausted.

Her eyes were sore and she rubbed them. She was
so tired and all her muscles ached. When she got home
she would stretch out in bed and sleep for the whole
day, and half of tomorrow – right after she had eaten
ten hot dogs, and drunk two litres of water in one go.

The trail bike burbled and blurted further down
the hill.
It's real after all
, she thought. It seemed so
close now that Shelby decided to see if it headed along
this trail. If it didn't pass this way in five minutes then
she would walk. Five minutes' rest sounded like
heaven. She stretched her legs out in front of her. The
back of her pants was caked in sand, and when she
eventually stood up she would probably look like a
schnitzel, but Shelby didn't care.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and just as she was
about to get up and brush herself off she saw the bike
approaching along the trail. When it was about ten
metres away it skidded to a stop. The rider flipped up
the visor, and Shelby could see his dark eyes and the
furrow over his eyebrows.

'Have you lost your horse
again
?' he asked.

'No, I . . .' And then she burst into tears.