Box ate his last two gingernuts standing by the hole in the wall that had once been the farmhouse’s front window Since Deans left Box had achieved very little. The one thing he’d done was use his crowbar to pull away the boards over the window. The nails had been old and rusted and the wood had come free without much fight. Now warm sunlight angled into the room. It wouldn’t last long, though; the shadows were on the march. He sipped fresh tea out of the lid of the Thermos while he thought. Box didn’t want another night in this valley. It was time to go. He’d take his chances driving back to the bay today. ‘The question is, how long will they be watching the roads?’ And then later, ‘It’s the ute they’ll be looking for. What I need’s a car.’ He was talking to Mark again. His son’s body lay on the floor in the sunlight. ‘But where are we going to get a car?’ When he’d finished the last biscuit in the packet and the cup in his hand was empty, he carried Mark out to the ute and slipped him as gently as he could onto the deck.
