Prohibited Zone by Alastair Sarre Page A

He waved at his truck. ‘That’s the first trailer. It’s refrigerated, but she can slip into Westie’s swag and she’ll be as happy as Larry. She can sleep ’til Adelaide. I don’t reckon the cops’ll search the trailer, but if they do she’ll be hidden behind a few dozen crates of mangoes. They won’t find her. Then when I get to Adelaide me missus will feed her and give her a cuppa and you can pick her up whenever you like. I’ve already phoned her.’
    â€˜I’ll have to discuss it with Saira,’ said Kara.
    â€˜Sure, go ahead,’ I said. ‘But don’t take too long. The longer we hang around the more likely some stray cop is going to come along and stickybeak around.’
    She ran back up the road and disappeared into the native pines. She re-emerged in less than a minute, Saira with her. They ran to the truck. Col had opened a door at the rear of the trailer and was unloading crates of mangoes. Inside he prepared a little nest, complete with swag, sleeping bag and a thermos of hot tea; he must’ve had it filled at Spuds. A car flashed past, heading towards Port Augusta, but I doubted its occupants could see what was going on because most of the action was hidden by the second trailer. Kara and Saira hugged, holding each other for a few seconds. Then Col helped Saira climb into the trailer and settled her down in the swag. He stacked the crates back in, closed and sealed the door and handed a fat mango to Kara.
    â€˜These are bloody good,’ he said. ‘Certified fruit-fly free, too.’
    She hesitated.
    â€˜It’s legit,’ he said. ‘I bought a box for meself when I was in Darwin.’
    She took the fruit. ‘Thanks.’ She managed a dim smile. ‘Look after her, won’t you?’
    â€˜You betcha.’
    â€˜Where’s my mango?’ I asked.
    He ignored me, grinning stupidly at Kara instead. She nodded, turned and began walking back to the ute. Col gave a big hissing sigh, a sound not dissimilar to a set of discharging air brakes.
    â€˜Handle with care, mate,’ he said.
    â€˜More like “Do Not Touch”.’
    He laughed and hitched his shorts. ‘But the one in the back’s got something, hasn’t she? Jesus, when she brushed past me just now I went all weak at the bloody knees.’
    â€˜You silly old bugger,’ I said. ‘Just keep your mind on the road.’
    I walked with him to the cabin of the truck. ‘No need to worry about me, mate,’ he said as he clambered into it. ‘I’m not the wandering kind. As long as I can get the leg over the missus about once a week I’m happy.’
    â€˜And I’m sure she loves your sense of romance.’
    He cackled and gave me a mock salute. ‘Well, good luck. Better hit the frog ’n’ toad. Don’t want the consignment to die of cold.’
    â€˜Hey, don’t turn her into a bloody commodity, mate.’
    He laughed again. ‘See you in Adelaide, Westie.’
    I ran back to the ute. Five minutes later we’d overtaken Col and were cruising towards Port Augusta.

6
    I T ’ S NOT A BAD RUN INTO P ORT A UGUSTA , also known as the Gutter, from the north. To the west, a series of abrupt, flat-topped hills cut into the horizon, iron-hard and about a billion years old. This morning they were deep blue against the horizon. Between the hills and the road and from the road eastward lay a broad scrubby plain of saltbush and mallee, the trunks of the mallee dark, the saltbush grey. Salt pans lay in the low points of the plain, gleaming and flat and white as bones. The dirt changed colour occasionally as we drove across the plain, from red, to red-brown, to brown, to salmon pink. It was about the only thing that changed for eighty kilometres. I didn’t even change gear. Kara sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out the side window. I played Dave Graney’s Heroic Blues