Prohibited Zone by Alastair Sarre

good?’
    She shrugged. ‘Many things change in Afghanistan, and many things do not.’
    I thought about that as we returned to the ute, but I couldn’t decipher it. Kara was picking her way carefully through the spinifex, holding her satchel in one hand and a roll of toilet paper in the other.
    She saw me. ‘Shouldn’t we be going?’
    â€˜Looks like you’ve already been.’
    She reddened. ‘Very funny.’
    I checked my watch again. ‘We go in fifteen minutes.’
    â€˜Why wait?’
    I ignored her and started up my little gas stove, making coffee using a small Italian mocha jug. Saira was talking to Kara in low tones. While I waited for the coffee to percolate I packed my sleeping bag into the swag. In seven minutes I had three espressos ready in paper cups. I handed one to Kara.
    â€˜Sorry there’s no croissant.’
    â€˜I forgive you. Unless the coffee tastes like shit.’
    I handed another to Saira. She took a sip.
    â€˜Good,’ she said, frowning.
    I downed mine in four sips and packed up the equipment. I heard a truck on the highway using engine brakes to slow down and then the hiss of its air brakes.
    â€˜Right on time,’ I said.
    â€˜For what?’ asked Kara.
    â€˜A plan. Know what that is?’
    We drove back towards the highway and I parked behind native pines that shielded us from the road.
    â€˜Let’s walk,’ I said to Kara. ‘Saira, wait here.’
    I grabbed my swag and carried it to the highway. Parked fifty metres or so to the south on a wide shoulder of the road was Col’s road train, its hazards flashing and engine idling. Col was standing by its side, taking a piss with his back to us. We walked towards him.
    â€˜Do you know him?’ asked Kara.
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜And the point is?’
    â€˜He’s going to take Saira to Adelaide.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Because there’s a police roadblock this side of Port Augusta and she’ll be caught if she stays with us.’
    Col finished his slash with a shake, a dip and a fart and turned our way. He was taken aback to see us. ‘Jesus, I wasn’t expecting an audience,’ he said. He walked over to us.
    â€˜We weren’t expecting a performance,’ I said.
    He guffawed in his high-pitched way and rubbed his hands together. ‘Cold as a witch’s tit, isn’t it? But it’s gunna be a beautiful day.’
    The temperature was probably above freezing by now, but only just. The sky was clear and in a couple of hours it would be intolerably hot.
    â€˜It’s going to be a stinker,’ I said.
    â€˜You spent the night with this lovely young lady?’ he asked me, gesturing at Kara.
    â€˜We shared the same hectare.’
    â€˜I’m Kara Peake-Jones,’ she said, holding out her hand. Col looked at his own hands and wiped them on his shorts. Kara frowned and shook his hand quickly, which made him grin.
    â€˜Col Paddick.’
    â€˜Paddock?’
    â€˜Paddick. Dick, not dock.’
    â€˜I see.’
    I would have bet she didn’t.
    â€˜Where’s the cargo?’ asked Col.
    â€˜She’s not cargo, she’s a human being,’ snapped Kara. She turned to me. ‘Can we trust this guy?’
    â€˜Yeah, take it easy on old Col,’ I said. ‘He was just being jovial. He’s got a bigger bleeding heart than you have, haven’t you, Col?’
    Col gave us a short rendition of his guffaw. ‘Yep. Got it from me mother. She was a real softy.’
    â€˜Jovial, too, I believe.’
    â€˜As a matter of fact she was.’
    Kara studied him for a few moments and the hackles went down. ‘I suppose you’ll do,’ she conceded. ‘Just don’t turn her into a commodity. She’s a human being.’
    â€˜Of course,’ said Col. ‘No more cargo jokes. We’ve got it all worked out. We’ll put her in with me tropical fruit.’