Vanished by James Delargy (best books to read in life txt) 📗

had been bad enough. A single street town that the white ute had flashed through in less than thirty seconds, but which at least boasted a general store/post office/bottle shop, a hardware store, a pub and something that resembled a cafe. It was a long way from Perth. Never again would Naiyana complain about living in a dead suburb. Nothing was as dead as this.

Then the black tarmac began to fade, cracking apart, the slivers filling with dust, the black fading to brown then orange, seeming to open beneath the wheels as the road lost all form, the scenery encroaching from both sides welcoming them. By the time they reached Kallayee it had pretty much gone completely.

Her sense of disappointment wasn’t shared by the others. In the back seat her son was giddy with glee, his cooing accompanied by the scurp of his sweaty fingers on the window. In the front seat, her husband was leaning forward, gazing out the window like his son.

‘Look at this place,’ said Lorcan. ‘Home.’

She raised her eyebrows at this. Another thing she would have to do herself out here. An hour every week in front of her mum’s mirror with a thread. Plucking them, trying to keep them neat. Painful. She wondered again why she had agreed to this. It didn’t take long for her to remember. For safety. A temporary solution, but as ever Lorcan had jumped straight into it. He never learned. Act first, ask questions later. Or not at all. And lose all their money.

‘So which one, Dad?’

‘Yeah, which one?’ she said, turning to Lorcan.

Every dwelling looked barely habitable, falling down around themselves as if they had given up the ghost after everyone first left. Forty years ago? Sixty years ago? He had told her but she had forgotten. It looked more like a hundred years ago. There were a few isolated brick structures but mostly the town was constructed of corrugated tin walls and roofs that had rusted to match the colour of the soil as if burying themselves in shame.

Weeds clung to the foot of buildings seeking shelter and whatever moisture collected on the tin at night and rolled down the side like tears. She felt like crying. This was where she found herself.

‘Stop!’ said Naiyana.

Lorcan hit the brakes. The furniture loaded on the flatbed behind – beds, pots, pans and a camping stove – crashed against the rear of the cab, as if jolted from slumber.

‘What is it?’

With her eyes she signalled the crossroads ahead. It was guarded by the skeleton of a long-dead kangaroo, its ribs poking up proudly from the dust.

‘We should move it,’ she whispered.

‘What for?’ said Lorcan.

‘So he doesn’t see it,’ she said, hoping that Dylan hadn’t noticed. Glancing in the rear-view she could see that his attention remained on the collapsed building they had just passed. Already exploring the ruins. Something she would have to watch for. For him this would be the best school holiday ever. Yesterday he had been in Clementine Primary surrounded by concrete, traffic-calming and cleanliness and now he was out here in the middle of a dangerous, unknown land.

‘He’s seen skeletons before, Nee,’ said Lorcan.

‘We don’t need him having nightmares.’

‘We can’t whitewash these things. We live here now. The sooner he gets used to it, the better.’

Before she could say anything to stop him, Lorcan looked over his shoulder and called in back.

‘Heads up, Dylan. Take a look at our new neighbour,’ he said as he hit the accelerator.

4

Lorcan Maguire

Skeletons. A ruined town. The endless possibilities of emptiness. His son was lapping it up. This was what Lorcan wanted. He needed to sell this to Dylan as he was sure Nee was a lost cause. As soon as the Perth carnage had blown over, she would want to return. But he had plans. He had lost their first house but he would build another. Bigger and better. He would make a life out here for them. Until such a time they could return. She had given him six weeks, twelve at the most. He was banking on a lot longer.

She still blamed him. And she was right. He had overstretched on their investments and paid for it, the mortgage on the five-bedroom house bought at the market’s zenith, crippling them. It had always been too big for them. Merely a statement of false affluence. When his career had peaked.

Now they were on this adventure. He knew his parents – and especially hers – saw it as a selfish pursuit. Taking a huge risk with a young child. But they didn’t know the other factors. And Dylan wasn’t that small anymore. Give him a tablet and he could find anything he wanted at the touch of the few buttons. Which was riskier than anything they might meet out here. Plus they had taken plenty of medical supplies, bandages and ointments, an inhaler even though none of them suffered from asthma, numbers for emergency advice, coordinates and directions to the nearest doctor and hospital even if they were an hour away. Plus it was the school holidays. They had six weeks before Dylan was due back and he could teach his son a lot in that time. How to erect a shelter, how to source water, survival techniques he had studied online and built himself a little manual of. He felt prepared. Prepared to show Nee that he knew what he was doing.

‘Are we there yet?’

This wasn’t Dylan of course, but Nee. Another jab for him to prove he was in control.

He peered out the window. None of the buildings looked suitable. Sweat prickled at his hairline despite the air con blasting at full tilt. He had thought that having the choice of any building would be exhilarating, almost an out-of-body experience where he would float above the town and find this rough diamond in the midst of the rubble. It wasn’t proving to be the case. They were all extensive fixer-uppers.

Turning at the far edge