The Crunch Campaign by Kate Hunter

wanted to run, but her feet were heavy and dense, like lumps of dough. A semitrailer was coming straight for her, but she couldn’t move. As it came closer, she could see something attached to its front grille. A soft toy. But as it approached, faster and faster, she could see the toy’s head was the prime minister’s.
    Katie sat up. The t-shirt she slept in was damp with sweat. The clock beside her said five past twelve. She hadn’t been asleep long, but there was no way she was lying back down – Clara Whiting might run her over. Katie knew the dream and it wouldn’t come back (just like good dreams are impossible to return to once you’ve woken up), but she wasn’t risking it. She walked through the dark house to the kitchen, filled a glass with water and took it onto the back deck. That was weird. There was a light on in the tree office. She let her eyes adjust to the dark and her ears started to sort the night sounds. There were possums and flying foxes in the sausage tree. They cast shadows on the tree office. But was there someone moving inside it? It was hard to tell. Setting her glass on the deck, she went to investigate.
    The grass was dewy underfoot and she shuffled instead of taking proper steps. Her grandad had taught her that was the best way to avoid stepping on a cane toad.
    There was definitely someone in the tree office. She stood below it and listened to the footsteps moving above her. They were unhurried. It was probably one of the others, she told herself, but as far as she knew, they never came over at night. The tree office belonged to all of them, but still it was in her yard and she didn’t think they’d come over after midnight. For a second she wondered if she should tell her mum. But if it was Lorraine, Dom, Joel or Clementine, they would get in trouble for sure. And her mum would be wondering what she was doing out here in the dead of night anyway.
    Slowly, Katie climbed the ladder. The windows opening onto the front veranda were closed. She pressed her ear to the plywood. Whoever it was had gone quiet. Maybe they knew she was there. She uncurled her fist from around her key and carefully, slowly slipped it into the lock, then eased the door open. The tree house was empty. But one of the Macs was on. Someone had been here. She shut the door behind her.
    â€˜Katie!’ said Dominic.
    She spun around. ‘Dom!’ Her heart was somewhere near the back of her tongue.
    â€˜Well, who did you think it would be? You nearly gave me a coronary.’
    â€˜Same. Why didn’t you say it was you?’
    â€˜I didn’t know it was you. It could have been a murderer or anyone!’
    â€˜So you thought there was a murderer, but you came on in anyway?’ Dom was grinning.
    â€˜Well –’ Now she was laughing too. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
    â€˜Probably the same as you. Not sleeping.’
    Dominic looked like he hadn’t been to bed. He was still wearing his grey school shorts, but with an old flannelette shirt instead of a jumper. ‘I’m worried about this ban.’
    â€˜Me too,’ said Katie, sinking onto a bean bag. ‘Not much point in having an ad agency if we can’t do ads.’
    He nodded.
    â€˜Mum and Liam are still keen to do their new Christmas drink, but I can’t even think of that. My head keeps saying, What’s the point? It’ll be the last ad we’ll ever do for Parfitt’s. That makes me so worried I kind of freeze.’
    â€˜Maybe don’t think of it then. We’ve got another client – there’s no move to ban dog food ads, is there?’
    â€˜No, but I can’t let Parfitt’s go. Without them, everything falls apart. Mum told me Caesar Maxwell from MyFries is launching some kind of ad campaign to stop the ban, but I can’t see how that’ll work. I’ve dug a hole for myself with this prime minister thing. What am I going to