Red Queen by Honey Brown

wouldn’t return, and that’s why they went together. We’d agreed that they would quarantine themselves for two weeks, the extra week to be sure, before they returned. They set up a camp in the bush near the Mount Tassie transmission tower; you can see the tower from up the bluff. If they came down with symptoms they planned to tie a kite they’d taken around the frame, as high up as they could. So we could see it.’
    After a moment, I said, ‘Some of the kite’s still there.’
    ‘I’m really sorry, Shannon.’
    ‘It’s kinda nice to have something. The kite, I mean – I think it would be so much harder not to know for sure.’
    ‘It is.’
    We slipped into our own thoughts. Birdsong filtered in. I ate my breakfast and Denny stood at the bench and squeezed oranges.

    From across the paddock I could see her walk to the corner of the veranda and sit on the edge with her legs swinging and her face lifted to the sun.
    I saw her arms were bare, and the shape of her upper body more defined in a tight top. She leant back on her elbows. I was standing in the shade of the gums and knew she couldn’t see me.
    As tired as I was, the sight of her lifted me. I cleared my throat and a couple of nearby sheep swung their heads up to look at me. They were a sorry-looking bunch, with hacked coats and red nicks around their faces and on their legs. I was hardly trying for show-quality fleece, but I could probably attempt a more even job. Still, better than wool-blind and overheated.
    The shotgun was against the peeling bark of the tree beside me; I picked it up. Grey wool lay scattered in the grass. My shoulder ached and the muscles down either side of my neck were hot. The nylon bag I’d brought hung from a branch a few trees down; I made my way towards it.
    I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, which made the walk towards the cabin disconnected and vacuous.
    ‘You’ve split the wood for tonight,’ I said, nodding at the neat stack.
    Denny stopped swinging her legs to look behind her.
    ‘Pretty impressive, hey.’
    ‘If you’ve got dinner on the go I’ll be near redundant.’
    ‘Rohan didn’t say, so I thought I better not.’
    I slid the gun and bag in beside her on the veranda, then squatted to wash my hands and face under the tap.
    From down in the dirt I could still feel the effect of her bare arms and tight T-shirt. The skin on her arms was a dark honey colour, without freckles and with a glow that promised a deep summer tan. She stuck her head through the railing and watched me.
    ‘Hot today,’ she said.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘I did your bed.’
    The tap water was from a spring at the top of the bluff; it was cold and with good pressure behind it. I stuck my head under the hard stream and thought of her in my bedroom, over my bed.
    ‘… you won’t know yourself,’ she was saying, as I turned off the tap. ‘I couldn’t help it – I had to tidy up.’
    I flicked the water from my face and my fingers.
    ‘You don’t mind?’ she asked.
    ‘I haven’t seen it yet.’
    Her chin was resting on the back of her hands and the sun in her eyes; she seemed to be re-assessing me. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt.
    ‘What?’
    ‘You look like Rohan.’
    ‘No I don’t.’
    ‘Yes you do.’
    I waved her comment away and reached up to pull myself onto the veranda. As I climbed over the rail she repositioned herself, expecting me to sit down beside her. I did.
    ‘I look like Mum,’ I said. ‘Rohan looks like Dad.’
    ‘You’ve got the same build – Rohan’s just older, filled out. Those photos of him in the canoe, up in the hall, I had to look to see which one of you it was. And that’d be him about your age. You’ve got his mouth.’
    ‘No way.’
    ‘Why does it bother you so much?’
    ‘We’re nothing alike. I’m blond, he’s dark. I’m young, he’s prehistoric. I’m normal, he’s abnormal.’
    ‘You shouldn’t be so defensive – it’s not such a bad thing to take after your