I stood in the centre of my sky-blue, windowless cell, surveying my things scattered around. I wanted to snatch them all up and quit the roadhouse job sooner than I could. I wanted to walk out there and then. It was a shame Pete was heading to Sydney, the wrong direction for me. But I could stay with him and then take the coach to Melbourne. I needn’t ever return to Cann River, except to get on the midday coach.
I counted my money. I was still shy of the bus fare. I couldn’t travel by bus unless I scrounged the cash off Pete, and I didn’t feel comfortable taking money from a dying man.
I felt desperate. My small taste of freedom out at Point Hicks had entered my being and taken root.
Which brought me back to hitching as my only other option. The moment I pictured myself, loaded with my
