The Night Is for Hunting by John Marsden Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Marsden
out, and opened the gate, cursing a little as I did it. A truckful of people, and I had to open the gate. And shut it.
We bumped slowly across the paddock, disturbing a few Herefords who got up clumsily and turned around to watch. Then another gate and another paddock. And another. And another. At least Homer opened and closed these gates for me.
It was forty-five minutes before we reached the next road. I still didn’t recognise it, so we had to start the whole process again, me navigating by instinct as we followed fencelines and old wheeltracks. Any time things looked like getting too civilised – any hint of buildings or small well-cultivated paddocks for example – I’d swing away again. No matter how tired and frustrated I got I could always console myself with the thought that they’d never follow us here. We were making ourselves safer with every gate we opened, every remote paddock we crossed, every creek we forded. And at least in the paddocks I didn’t have to worry so much about the truck’s steering. It didn’t matter if we went off course there.
I was glad to see the sky at last begin its change from black to grey. It gave me a bit more energy, woke me up again. All night I’d been using parking lights or no lights at all, and now I turned off the parkers for the last time. I pressed the accelerator down further and pushed the truck harder. I knew we were getting closer to Hell and the knowledge was sweet. I also knew that we had to get to the bottom of Tailor’s Stitch in the next hour, before it got too light, before people started waking up and coming out of houses and travelling the roads. So I used every drop of that new energy, squeezing the bends tighter, forcing the truck up the hills faster, not slowing down for the level crossings. With all the practice I’d had during the night I was getting quite skilled at pushing it through corners, in its controlled drift. There were times when I even enjoyed it.
I was exhausted when we at last got to the track up to Tailor’s Stitch. The burst of dawn energy had gone again and my eyelids felt tired and sore, like I’d been partying all night. I switched the engine off and staggered out of the cab, stretching my legs, making them work. I went around to the back, not sure what I’d find. They’d been pretty quiet in there for a while now. I’d heard a bit of retching at one stage, so I wasn’t too optimistic about them, or the reception I’d get.
What I saw nearly made me laugh. Homer sat there nursing this little kid. The kid was asleep in his arms, her head hanging back and her mouth open. She didn’t look very comfortable. Neither did Homer. He glared at me as if to say: ‘Make a joke and I’ll kill you.’ So I swallowed what I wanted to say and looked past him. Fi had kids either side of her, hanging on tightly to her shirt. Lee was sitting on the floor next to a boy who seemed to be ill. Even Kevin had a girl asleep with her head on his lap. I was amazed anyone could be asleep. I’d thought the way I drove would have kept everyone awake. More than awake, in a state of shock. Seemed like I was wrong. Sometimes you can be so exhausted, so much at the end of your tether, that nothing keeps you awake. I’d been so exhausted at shearing time one year that I’d gone to sleep on the motorbike, in the middle of mustering. That was a bit embarrassing.
The smell in the back of the truck wasn’t too good though. I’d been right about the retching. I guess being truck sick is worse than being car sick. On a bigger scale. Whatever, these guys had been sick. Well, one good thing, I wouldn’t need to worry about cleaning it. I had other plans for the truck.
We got everyone out, which wasn’t easy. I was so busy helping them, and chucking stuff out of the truck, that I didn’t get a clear idea of what the kids were like. I just had an impression of a pale, half-starved pathetic-looking bunch, a lot less scary than they had been back in the
We bumped slowly across the paddock, disturbing a few Herefords who got up clumsily and turned around to watch. Then another gate and another paddock. And another. And another. At least Homer opened and closed these gates for me.
It was forty-five minutes before we reached the next road. I still didn’t recognise it, so we had to start the whole process again, me navigating by instinct as we followed fencelines and old wheeltracks. Any time things looked like getting too civilised – any hint of buildings or small well-cultivated paddocks for example – I’d swing away again. No matter how tired and frustrated I got I could always console myself with the thought that they’d never follow us here. We were making ourselves safer with every gate we opened, every remote paddock we crossed, every creek we forded. And at least in the paddocks I didn’t have to worry so much about the truck’s steering. It didn’t matter if we went off course there.
I was glad to see the sky at last begin its change from black to grey. It gave me a bit more energy, woke me up again. All night I’d been using parking lights or no lights at all, and now I turned off the parkers for the last time. I pressed the accelerator down further and pushed the truck harder. I knew we were getting closer to Hell and the knowledge was sweet. I also knew that we had to get to the bottom of Tailor’s Stitch in the next hour, before it got too light, before people started waking up and coming out of houses and travelling the roads. So I used every drop of that new energy, squeezing the bends tighter, forcing the truck up the hills faster, not slowing down for the level crossings. With all the practice I’d had during the night I was getting quite skilled at pushing it through corners, in its controlled drift. There were times when I even enjoyed it.
I was exhausted when we at last got to the track up to Tailor’s Stitch. The burst of dawn energy had gone again and my eyelids felt tired and sore, like I’d been partying all night. I switched the engine off and staggered out of the cab, stretching my legs, making them work. I went around to the back, not sure what I’d find. They’d been pretty quiet in there for a while now. I’d heard a bit of retching at one stage, so I wasn’t too optimistic about them, or the reception I’d get.
What I saw nearly made me laugh. Homer sat there nursing this little kid. The kid was asleep in his arms, her head hanging back and her mouth open. She didn’t look very comfortable. Neither did Homer. He glared at me as if to say: ‘Make a joke and I’ll kill you.’ So I swallowed what I wanted to say and looked past him. Fi had kids either side of her, hanging on tightly to her shirt. Lee was sitting on the floor next to a boy who seemed to be ill. Even Kevin had a girl asleep with her head on his lap. I was amazed anyone could be asleep. I’d thought the way I drove would have kept everyone awake. More than awake, in a state of shock. Seemed like I was wrong. Sometimes you can be so exhausted, so much at the end of your tether, that nothing keeps you awake. I’d been so exhausted at shearing time one year that I’d gone to sleep on the motorbike, in the middle of mustering. That was a bit embarrassing.
The smell in the back of the truck wasn’t too good though. I’d been right about the retching. I guess being truck sick is worse than being car sick. On a bigger scale. Whatever, these guys had been sick. Well, one good thing, I wouldn’t need to worry about cleaning it. I had other plans for the truck.
We got everyone out, which wasn’t easy. I was so busy helping them, and chucking stuff out of the truck, that I didn’t get a clear idea of what the kids were like. I just had an impression of a pale, half-starved pathetic-looking bunch, a lot less scary than they had been back in the