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  Oliver puts his arm around me.

  ‘You okay?’ my dad asks, taking my hand. I nod as my mouth purses, holding back the urge to cry.

  Oliver gets up and goes to the fridge, opens the door and gazes blankly inside.

  Dad sits back in his chair and rubs his mouth. ‘After that, Pete disappeared.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Oliver turns to face him.

  ‘We got back to the camp and the guys started really drinking. They went all out.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was rattled to say the least. Took a long walk to clear my head and see the stars. When I returned, the guys had all but passed out on the spot. It wasn’t until morning that Bruce got a text from Pete saying he was back in town and had taken one of the cars. We all piled into the other cars and came back.’

  Pete. How could he? An innocent animal like that ... I shake my head again, trying to rid my brain of the images. I try to reconcile the Pete I’ve seen on the bus, on the street, with the one I’ve just seen ... But I can’t. I’m not naive; I know the world is not a kind, just place for animals. But still.

  ‘This has to get out,’ Oliver says, returning to sit down. ‘Pete can’t get away with this.’

  ‘What do you mean “get out”?’ Dad asks.

  ‘We’ll post it on Keep Kind. Oh my God, can you imagine how many people would watch it? We could get up to one, even two hundred subscribers.’

  I can’t believe he’s thinking of subscribers at a time like this.

  My phone rings. It’s Dave. He wants to know what happened, so I put him on speaker and Dad gives him the summary.

  ‘That’s not allowed. Not at all,’ Dave says. ‘But you can’t post it on the internet, Sky and Oliver. It was on private land. You can’t just share footage of someone without their permission. Especially a minor. And in this small town? Adam, that could spell big trouble for you too. I can ask my mate at the station, but I’m sure you’d struggle to get back into Australia next time if you have a black mark against your name.’

  That settles it. If I learnt anything in Alaska it’s that family comes first.

  ‘Why don’t you report it to the authorities?’ Dave says.

  ‘Who should we call?’ I ask.

  ‘You know what? I’m in the neighbourhood and have an hour. I’ll come by now.’

  When Dave arrives ten minutes later, we’ve already found instructions on how to report an animal cruelty incident.

  The four of us now squeeze in front of the computer screen. Dad scans the questions and instructions. ‘I don’t know if this is a good idea.’

  Dave scrolls down the form, looking closely. ‘I wonder if we can report it anonymously and give them the footage.’

  Dad points to questions four and five. ‘Looks like I have to name Pete and give them Bruce’s car registration. It will all be on record.’

  That would be a disaster. Bruce will be super pissed and, from my experience of small-town living, the whole population of West Creek will know in five minutes. Paula will get dragged in, and she can’t handle that stress right now.

  ‘Let’s try the hotline.’ Dave points to a number at the top right of the screen.

  Dad punches the numbers into his phone. He goes through a series of menus, but ends up at a voicemail service. They announce they will make all efforts to get back to us within two working days. Dad leaves his name and number.

  ‘Let me try my mate, Luke, at the station,’ Dave says. He calls and explains the situation to Luke, focusing on just the headlines. Luke tells him he’ll check with a friend, then calls back a few minutes later with the direct number of his footy mate’s wife’s sister, Pearl, who’s worked for twenty years at the call desk for the national body that investigates animal cruelty.

  Dave dials Pearl’s number on speaker and briefly explains the contact via Luke and the background.

  ‘And the joey, it was killed?’ Pearl clarifies. ‘After the kicking?’

  ‘I assume so,’ Dad answers. ‘As Dave said, I caught the whole thing on video and I’d like to pass it onto someone so we can make sure this behaviour is not repeated.’

  ‘The simplest thing to do is fill out the online form on our website. The address is—’

  ‘Yes, we’ve been there,’ Dave says. ‘But Adam here is a little concerned about anonymity. The men round here wouldn’t appreciate ... Well, you know what I’m saying, Pearl.’

  ‘Okay, let’s start with the full details and we can go from there.’ Pearl proceeds to ask Dad a series of questions, which he answers succinctly and clearly. He’s obviously used to talking to authorities. ‘It was on private land ... Yes, they had permission from the landowner to shoot ... No, the joey was not killed instantly ... No, they did not know I was filming them ... The person was a minor, under eighteen ... There had been drinking involved, yes ... Including the minor? Can’t be sure.’

  ‘We receive thousands of complaints every month,’ Pearl says after the questions finish, ‘and there’s only one inspector responsible for the entire region you’re situated in. The backlog is ...’ She sighs. ‘Look, no one will tell you this, but since you’re a friend of Luke’s, I’ll give it to you straight. We only take on cases with an extremely high chance of success. And even then we don’t often win. The entire process can take up to a year. And the problem is, you won’t know if we’ve taken on the case at all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dave asks.

  ‘Whether the case proceeds or not will be out of your hands.’

  I look at Oliver but he shrugs, just as confused as I am.

  ‘We won’t know what’s happened?’ Dad clarifies.

  ‘No,’ Pearl says.

  ‘Is there a chance, in your opinion, that—’

  ‘I’ll be honest, from what you’ve described, there’s very little chance we’ll take on the case. The behaviour is certainly against code, but since it could have been a one-time thing by a minor, and the father, as you described, already admonished him on tape so—’

  ‘What?’ I interrupt. ‘But he could do this again! Or maybe he’s done it before!’

  Dad frowns at me. ‘Sorry, Pearl. That’s my daughter. She’s feeling a bit upset after watching the footage, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

  Upset? I’m a little more than upset.

  Pearl continues. ‘In the small likelihood an inspector does take on the case, however, we’d need to interview the accused parties to get their statements.’

  ‘You’d need their details?’ Dave asks.

  ‘Most definitely. If the inspector felt the case could proceed from there, we’d go through to the court stage.’

  ‘What would happen to P—?’ I stop myself. ‘The guy who kicked the kangaroo?’

  ‘Best-case scenario, he’d receive a few hours of community service and a small fine.’

  ‘What?’ I shout to no one in particular. I can’t believe this. This is not okay, it’s not fair.

  Dave takes the phone off speaker and thanks Pearl profusely for all her help.

  We sit quietly, my dad rubbing his neck and Oliver staring into his lemonade. All I can hear is the blood pumping in my ears.

  ‘We could give the video to Stella,’ Oliver suggests finally.

  ‘She probably wouldn’t see it. I’ve tagged her in lots of our stuff and she never likes or replies.’

  ‘We could still give it a try,’ he says. ‘But we’d have to ask her not to post it. She could just have it as evidence of the cruel things that go on.’

  I sigh. ‘She gets thousands of messages; she probably wouldn’t even notice.’

  ‘And even if she does see it and promises not to post it, it’s still too big of a risk,’ Dave says. ‘You don’t even know this woman.’

  ‘Let’s keep thinking.’ My dad looks at me, his brow furrowed. ‘There must be a way to turn this into something positive. I wonder how often this kind of stuff happens on other nights out. Who would even know?’

  Darkness—physical and metaphorical.
>
  A message pops up on my phone. It’s from Lucy. I scan it quickly.

  Doing my bakery trial today. I send her a thumbs up, and she replies, Dad’s applied for something in Mexico. Are there piranhas there or is that Brazil?

  I’ll call you later, I say.

  Okay. BTW, Pete was my first customer when I was training at the till. Bought a donut. Didn’t even recognise him ...

  Why? I write back.

  ‘Sky,’ Dad says. ‘Be here in the room with us, not on your phone, okay?’

  ‘Hold on,’ I say. ‘It’s Lucy. She just saw Pete at the bakery.’ I keep reading.

  He was wearing his black hoodie all zipped up and his face was almost hidden. Once I realised it was him, I said hi, of course, but he ignored me. Strange expression.

  ‘Oh,’ I say out loud.

  ‘What?’ Oliver asks.

  I look up from my phone. ‘It was obvious all along.’

  ‘What was?’ Dad asks.

  ‘We should just blur it out.’

  ‘Huh?’ Oliver asks.

  ‘His face,’ I say. ‘Pete. If no one knows it’s him, we can share it.’

  Oliver’s eyes light up. ‘My girlfriend’s a genius!’

  I beam back at him as my skin tingles at the word.

  Dave grunts. ‘I still don’t know ... Like I said, it’s a small town. The chance that someone will see it ...’

  ‘Nobody watches our channel, especially in West Creek,’ Oliver says. ‘There’s about zero chance.’

  ‘What do you think, Adam?’ Dave asks.

  I look between them, wondering if this will be another battle or if they’ll agree.

  ‘I suppose ...’ Dad rubs his eyes. ‘If his face is blurred out, and we cut Bruce out as well ... And sharing the footage would raise awareness about what goes on ...’

  This is going to be good.

  ‘Jaxon’s a bit of a media whiz,’ Dad continues. ‘Maybe he’ll have some advice for us on how to get some attention. Should I give him a ring? What’s the time?’ He checks his watch.

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ I jump in. I catch Oliver’s eye and he smiles at me, his face flushed and excited. ‘We’ve got this.’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Miss you already ...’ I swing my arms around Oliver’s neck and hug him tight.

  It’s not much later than sunrise and cars rush by us on the highway, the rumbling of engines, diesel fumes and clouds of smoke from passing trucks creating the least romantic atmosphere possible.

  It’s Friday and Oliver’s taking the twelve-hour bus to Melbourne. He’s all ready to go, with stashes of food, music, TV shows and books.

  ‘... Will you miss me?’ I ask sweetly.

  ‘Of course.’ He kisses me, but only lightly before detaching. He takes his phone out of his pocket. ‘Three o’clock, don’t forget.’ His expression is serious.

  We researched the precise hour to post on social media for maximum impact, not wanting to take any chances. If this video attracts the right audiences, as Oliver says, it’s a win–win–win: we’ll raise awareness of kangaroo cruelty; Oliver’s dad will surely be impressed and may even buy him the video editing program, giving Oliver a boost of confidence and better shot at getting the internship at Viola Films. And on top of that, we’ll show the real facts of what happens out in the bush when no one’s watching. Mission accomplished.

  I check Diana is out of earshot—she’s waiting a few feet away with Sabine, who twirls around the bus-stop post—then I whisper to Oliver, ‘Good luck with your dad.’

  ‘It’ll be okay.’ He doesn’t sound convinced. This is the first time Oliver’s stayed with his dad alone, and I know he’s worried.

  ‘Are you going to show him all our videos? I hope he appreciates what an amazing filmmaker you are.’

  ‘He thinks it’s just a phase,’ Oliver says.

  ‘But it isn’t.’

  ‘He doesn’t know that.’ He scowls, then his face softens and he lets out a sigh. ‘Maybe I’ll get a real job and save up for that program myself.’

  ‘Doesn’t your mum need you at the store?’

  ‘Can’t be cheap labour forever, can I?’

  Diana relies on his help and can’t afford anyone else. She told me so when Oliver and I were helping her close up one evening. But Oliver’s right. I wonder how he’ll get the money he needs.

  The bus comes around the bend at the end of the street. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll upload the video right on time,’ I say, taking Oliver’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

  Sabine breaks away from Diana and leans into Oliver. ‘What’s right on time?’

  ‘Our video.’ Oliver tousles her hair, and she huffs and smooths it back down.

  ‘Not another video.’ Sabine attempts a twirl on the tip of her pink sparkly shoe, like the prima ballerina she aspires to be.

  ‘Yes, Sabine, another one. We post one every week, remember?’

  ‘But today’s Thursday, not Sunday, silly.’

  ‘You’re right!’ I laugh. The girl’s got a memory like an elephant. ‘But we’re posting early this week—special circumstances.’

  ‘Oh.’ She loses interests and returns to practise her swirls at the pole.

  The bus pulls up next to us, and Diana asks, ‘Got your wallet?’

  ‘Check,’ Oliver says. The bus driver opens the large luggage area. Oliver hands him the bag and he throws it into the otherwise empty compartment. It’s not a popular day for travel, clearly.

  ‘Phone?’ Diana sings.

  ‘Check.’ He holds it up.

  ‘Good attitude?’

  ‘Mum!’ He breaks into a reluctant smile, which, even though it’s small, still lights up his face.

  ‘Tell me if you see any signs of Activist Day,’ I remind him. Since I haven’t been accepted into the group, I’m shut out from seeing all the inspiring things that are going on. It sucks.

  As the bus driver returns to his seat, I pull Oliver into one last hug, then he boards the bus.

  He waves to us from the window, and Diana, Sabine and I watch as the bus pulls away and disappears around the next bend. I feel an emptiness in my chest.

  I check my watch. I promised Lucy I’d take her prints to the post office this morning so they can be express posted to her two customers by tomorrow. She hadn’t expected to be scheduled in for a shift at the bakery so quickly and she’s on all morning. And I swore to Paula days ago that I’d water the veggie garden.

  Diana drops me off at the post office, and while I’m waiting in line I find two senior jobs for Mark. They’re not close—a day’s drive at least—but nearer than Russia or Mexico. I send them to Lucy, just in case Mark didn’t see them.

  It’s late afternoon by the time I get to Lucy’s, and her garden chatters as I enter the side gate to her house. Lucy comes out of the house to greet me and I follow her down the path, squeezing past a wheelchair full of birdseed, two broken bikes and a rusty shovel, towards the sanctuary at the back.

  The rows of enclosures, tall wooden pens covered with mesh wire, are now familiar to me. I know most of the birds individually and don’t need to check the clipboards, date, injury and recovery progress to remember their stories.

  ‘You won’t believe what he just sent me.’ Lucy stares at her phone.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘Another geology joke,’ Lucy says. ‘His rock humour is astronomical.’

  ‘Lucy!’ I snort a laugh, and she cracks up laughing too.

  She told Malcolm she loved him too, and she’s been all smiles and giggles ever since.

  ‘Show me.’ I stop and reach for her phone.

  She whisks it away. ‘Too embarrassing.’

  ‘Come on!’ We are in front of the raucous parakeets, a barrage of electric blue, orange and green.

  ‘You asked for it.’ She passes me the phone.

  I read the caption under a picture of a rock: One tectonic plate bumped into another and said, ‘Sorry, my fault.’

  ‘I don�
��t get it,’ I say, and a parakeet squawks at me through the wire.

  She raises her voice above the noise. ‘Fault?’

  I furrow my brows. What am I missing?

  ‘The Earth’s tectonic plates?’

  Nothing.

  Lucy sighs dramatically and continues to walk. ‘A fault is when there’s a break, a fracture, in the Earth’s crust. They can cause earthquakes and volcanoes and stuff.’

  Oh. I poke my finger through the enclosure and feel the nibble of a beak on my finger. It hurts just a little. I start following Lucy, but then stop, staring into King the cockatoo’s enclosure. ‘Where is he?’ I ask.

  ‘Released last week,’ Lucy says. ‘Hope we see him again. In the bush and not injured, of course.’

  It’s amazing how attached she becomes to the birds and then, suddenly, they’re gone, out of her life. Is it going to be like that with me and her? A fly-by friendship, gone before it really started? I’ve known her for less than a year but she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. Maybe Lucy’s used to it, having moved around most of her life, but I don’t know if I can let go so easily.

  ‘Did you see those job descriptions I sent?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, they’re not the right fit.’

  ‘Sorry. I know I suck at this, but I really want to help.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  I take that as licence to continue my hunt. There’s always a chance I’ll happen upon something, by accident at least.

  ‘What will happen to all of this if you have to move?’ I look around at the sanctuary.

  ‘Dad has some thoughts, but we’ll cross that bridge when ...’ She sighs. ‘Well, you know. Anyway.’ Lucy gazes into King’s empty cage. ‘Did Oliver leave for Melbourne? Was it sad to say goodbye?’

  ‘Yeah. But just lately, sometimes I feel ...’ Looking for the right words, I run my fingers over the end of the branch propped between the two sides of the enclosure, King’s favourite spot to sit. Now he’s in his own real-life tree once again. I wonder if his collision with the car flashes through his mind when he falls asleep.

  ‘What?’ Lucy turns to me.