But I’ve never ventured far enough to see it.
Every time the driver shifts gears or slows a little, my stomach tightens.
As if at any moment the truck might turn around and head back to hell.
But we keep going.
And even if he ditches me here, it's still less of a walk than before.
With every sign, hope blooms.
They’re the same green and silver as my sign near the roadhouse.
Longreach, one hundred and ninety five kilometres.
Longreach, one hundred and seventy two kilometres.
The gritty surface hums beneath the tyres.
Such an odd sensation to be rolling along the ground at a super quick pace.
The sun has climbed higher now, washing the plains in a pale gold light.
Heat shimmers faintly along the road ahead.
Out here the earth looks endless, the way my starry sky often does.
I want to reach out and touch the soft spikes of tussock, to feel them beneath my hand.
But then the road curves, and I feel the engine shift and slow.
The man pulls over at a small middle of nowhere coffee house.
Fuck.
What if he's changed his mind?
What if he tells someone about the strange kid sitting next to him?
What if he calls someone from Jundah to come and get me?
I look around to decide which way I’ll run if that happens.
Not that there’s anywhere to hide in such a wide open space.
When the driver returns, he slides a small paper bag across the dashboard.
“Here.”
It smells so good.
My stomach twists sharply.
I realise I haven’t eaten since yesterday.
Inside the bag I find a steak and cheese pie wrapped in foil
A can of fizzy orange soda, too.
