Twig glared at her. June braced for a scathing reply.
They stood that way for a while, close but separate from each other, until Twig put her arm around June. And, as the sky sobbed down on them, turned with her to face the driving rain.
17. Showy banksia
Meaning: I am your captive
Banksia speciosa | Western Australia and South Australia
Small tree that has thin leaves with prominent ‘teeth’. Cream-yellow flower spikes appear throughout the year, which store seeds until opened by fire. The flowers attract nectar-feeding birds, particularly honeyeaters.
Alice drove through the storm for the rest of the night. At dawn she stopped for petrol at a roadhouse not far beyond the state border. After filling up she parked under a gum and propped her head against the window to sleep. When she awoke the sun was burning her face and her mouth was dry. She got out of her truck and went into the roadhouse, emerging ten minutes later with a paper cup of burnt black coffee, a stale bun with thick pink icing, and a map. She managed a sip and a few bites before tossing the lot into the rubbish. Her wheels spun on grit as she drove onto the highway following the signs west, her map open on the seat beside her. Alice pushed away thoughts about anything other than what was right in front of her. All she would allow herself to focus on was driving as far as she could from water.
The further inland she drove, the thirstier and more unfamiliar the landscape grew. Wide, flat fields of yellow grass were dotted with rocky outcrops and gullies of twisted gums. Alice spotted the occasional corrugated-iron roof of a farmhouse, or a silver water tank squatting by a creaking windmill. All under the upturned bowl of endless blue sky.
Her mobile ran out of battery on the first day. She didn’t bother fishing her charger out of her bag. When she was tired she pulled up on the side of the road wherever she was, locked her doors, and slept. Deeply, and without dreams. When she passed through one-street towns that seemed to shoot up out of the yellow dust like wildflowers after rain, she stopped for fuel and salad sandwiches or tins of peaches that she ate with her fingers. Sometimes she’d buy a cup of milky tea to swill as she pondered her map; the name of a town had caught her eye. It was at least a few more sweltering days of driving away but she wasn’t dissuaded. At her next roadhouse stop she bought a spray bottle, filled it with tap water and used it during the following stretch of driving, spraying her face to cool herself down. The harsh sun beat down on her without mercy.
On her third night on the road, sweat still trickling down her backbone after sunset, Alice spotted a neon sign flashing on the outskirts of a mining town. She pulled into the motel parking lot and paid extra for an air-conditioned room with a kitchenette. In a convenience shop nearby she found pancake mix. Alice bought a box along with a stick of butter and tin of golden syrup, and fried them up before she’d even taken off her boots. Lying sprawled in her knickers across the floral polyester bedspread, Alice tore the pancakes into strips, slathered them with butter and syrup, and ate the stack while the rattling wall unit belted out stale, cold air. The lullaby of twenty-four-hour movies on the cable television sent her into another empty sleep.
The next morning Alice left her motel room key on the bureau and closed the door behind her. The sun was only just up but already creating a heat haze. At first she thought it was a trick of the eye, but looking around, Alice stopped mid-stride. The night before, in the dark, she hadn’t realised that the colour of the earth had changed so dramatically. Though she’d heard people talk about the Red Centre, it wasn’t the kind of red she’d expected. It was closer to orange. Like rust. Like fire. Overwhelmed, Alice closed her eyes and listened. Birdsong, the humming air conditioners behind her, the desert wind, a small yap. She opened her eyes to look around. Walked towards her truck, searching for the source of the yapping.
Crouching under a nearby shrub was a tawny-coloured puppy with one white patch of fur in the middle of its back. Alice glanced around. There were no other cars in the car park, or coming in either direction down the flat highway. The puppy yapped again. It didn’t have a collar, and clumps of fur were missing along its flanks. While Alice was looking it over, fleas surfaced and burrowed again into the white patch. The puppy belonged to no one, or if it did, to someone who didn’t care for it. Alice checked behind its tail. A girl. She scooped the puppy under one arm, opened the door and plonked her on the passenger seat. They gazed at each other.
‘How do you feel about Pippin?’ Alice asked. The puppy panted. ‘Too formal?’ Alice put the truck into gear and turned onto the highway, continuing to follow signs to the town she’d picked on her map.
‘Come on, then, Pip,’ she said. ‘Less than half a day’s drive to go.’
The town of Agnes Bluff sat at the base of the towering red outcrop it was named after. Main Street was lined with spotted gums and dotted with Victorian shopfronts the colour of sugared almonds. A newsagency, a few desert art galleries, a library, a couple of cafes, a grocery store and a petrol station. Alice pulled in and was about to fill up when Pip cried as she weed on the passenger seat. Her urine was bloody.
‘Oh, Pip,’ Alice said. The puppy whimpered.
Alice raced inside and came back with directions scrawled on a scrap of paper. She sped off, praying she had enough fuel to get to the nearest vet.
Pip cried forlornly in her arms while Alice pounded her fist on the clinic door. She cupped her hand around her eyes and peered through the glass. A clock on the wall said it was three minutes past one. A sign on the door said the clinic closed at one on Saturdays. Was it Saturday? She didn’t have a clue. She kept banging until a man about her age appeared with a stethoscope around his neck behind the reception desk. He unlocked and opened the door.
‘Can I help?’
‘Please,’ Alice pleaded.
She followed him into the surgery. He put a pair of gloves on and took Pip from Alice’s arms. He bent to inspect her skin where fur was missing. Shone a light in her eyes, then into her mouth. When he stood up, the warmth was gone from his face.
‘Your dog has severe mange.’
‘Oh, she’s not mine. I mean, she is, I, I, just found her this morning. I mean, we found each other. At a roadhouse.’
He considered her for a moment. ‘You’d best wash your hands,’ he said more gently, nodding towards a sink in the corner. Alice washed her hands with warm water.
‘That’s what that odour is,’ he said.
Alice looked at him blankly, drying her hands with paper towel.
‘You can’t smell it?’
She shoved her hands in her pockets. ‘I, uh, didn’t notice.’
‘That’s why she can’t stop scratching.’
He was right, Alice realised. The puppy hadn’t stopped scratching since Alice found her. ‘There’s blood, too, I just saw, in her urine …’ Alice trailed off.
‘She’s got a nasty urinary tract infection, which causes the blood. She’s also got a high fever, no doubt from malnourishment.’ He peeled off his gloves and threw them into the bin. ‘Sadly, it’s pretty common for strays out here.’
The vet picked Pip up and put her in an empty cage. She immediately started to howl.
‘Hey!’ Alice stepped forward.
‘She needs immediate medical care,’ he cut in. ‘I’m just helping her.’ It took a second but Alice backed off. Pip huddled into the far corner of the cage, her tail between her legs.
Out at the reception desk, the vet asked for Alice’s details.