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I suppress a smile and check over my shoulder before speaking. ‘We went to Melbourne in August. Mum had appointments, so we spent the weekend there. When she was out, I went to the state library. Told Mum I needed to do some research for an assignment.’
He nods. ‘That’s not a question.’
‘I asked one of the ladies there for info on Noah’s ark.’ Pausing, I draw a breath. ‘Turns out there’s no scientific evidence that an ark that size existed. No evidence of a global flood. In fact, many scientists say it would be impossible.’
He frowns at me across the water. ‘Still no question.’
I nod, gathering my thoughts. ‘If we’re wrong about that, what else might we be wrong about?’
Hunter continues to watch me. ‘What explanation did your mum give?’
‘I didn’t ask her. I couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
I’m embarrassed by the answer. ‘Because we’re not allowed to look outside the organisation for answers.’
He rests his hands on his hips. ‘Well, that’s messed up.’
‘It’s for our protection. To avoid misinformation.’
‘Misinformation.’ He nods slowly. ‘Right. So they don’t want you focused on school, don’t want you heading off to uni, and don’t want you to learn anything outside of what they tell you is true.’ He pauses. ‘One might suspect them of trying to keep you uneducated.’
I press my eyes shut. While the organisation encourages the basic education necessary for supporting oneself, my doubts are the direct result of me venturing too far when they explicitly tell us not to. Higher education is considered a moral and spiritual threat.
‘You all right?’ Hunter asks.
I open my eyes, nose burning from the build-up of tears that I absolutely refuse to let out. They may never stop coming if I do. ‘Yeah. Fine.’
He looks far from convinced. ‘You shouldn’t keep that shit bottled up, you know.’
‘Well, not all of us have the luxury of violence as an outlet.’
‘I have other outlets.’ He glances upstream. ‘Do you know the bend in the creek past the Davises’ property? At the base of the hill where our land ends?’
I nod.
‘Let’s go,’ he says, turning away and heading back to his bike.
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see when we get there.’
I look down at Banjo before mounting Charlie.
Hunter starts his bike and follows the trail that runs adjacent with the water. I push Charlie into a trot to keep up. When Hunter revs his bike, it scares the gelding into a canter. I glance across the water, wondering if he did it on purpose. Judging by his amused expression, I’d say yes.
When the track ends on the other side, Hunter’s forced to navigate the high grass. He’s standing up because the paddock is uneven, but he still manages to stay ahead of me. I lean forwards and loosen the reins, and his stride lengthens. The moment I pass Hunter, he revs his bike again.
And now we’re racing.
Hunter navigates the potholes and flies over bumps while Charlie leaps over shrubs and debris. Banjo’s living his best life, tongue flying like a wet flag. I’m starting to have fun without meaning to. When I look over at Hunter, I swear I see him grinning. It’s difficult to tell with him flashing in and out of view, though.
We slow down when we reach the bend in the creek. Charlie’s snorting and heaving, and Banjo’s panting and happy. The heaviness in my chest has eased, making it a little easier to breathe.
Hunter sits back on his seat, chest rising and falling fast. ‘That horse can move.’
‘He can.’ I clap Charlie’s neck. ‘So what are we doing here?’
