Catherine Jinks TheRoad Read Online Free PDF Page B

and swollen eyelids, after the screams and thumps and slamming doors had died away. Always, after every incident, Nathan had crept into view wearing that same shell-shocked expression.
    ‘It’s all right,’ she said huskily, patting his arm. Over his head, she and Cyrene exchanged glances. The old man muttered, ‘Whatever’s goin on, we need to know who did it,’ and headed for his room. Nathan sidled up to Grace.
    ‘Is it Dad?’ he asked her.
    For a moment she couldn’t respond.
    ‘Did Dad kill the dogs?’ he whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes. Grace crouched down, and hugged him. They hugged each other.
    ‘It’s all right,’ she mumbled. ‘Don’t worry, okay? It’ll be all right. Just wait here – I’ll be back in a second.’
    She released herself and went to the kitchen. A clock was ticking loudly. The refrigerator hummed. Cyrene’s telephone was sitting on one of the green-painted cabinets, between a china biscuit barrel shaped like a cat and a neat pile of hardware catalogues.The phone was black and heavy,so old that it didn’t have a keypad. Grace lifted the receiver to her ear.
    Oh no, she thought. God no. She dialled the first ‘0’, but nothing happened.
    Cyrene appeared behind her, nursing an ancient rifle.
    ‘What?’ he said, catching sight of her face. It began to crumple. ‘What?’
    Desperately she struggled to speak, pointing mutely at the phone. At last, with an impatient noise, he laid the gun on the table and took the receiver from her. He listened for a dial tone.
    There was none.
    His shocked expression loosened Grace’s tongue. She saw that he had no idea. No idea . ‘Let’s go!’ she said. ‘Now!’
    ‘Are the wires down?’
    ‘He’s cut ’em !’ Grace shrieked. ‘Come on!’
    ‘He can’t have –’
    ‘Gimme the keys! Where are they?’
    ‘There, but . . .’
    They were on top of the fridge. Grace snatched them up and ran to her bedroom. The house shook with every footfall. She threw Cyrene’s keys into her purse, slinging it over her shoulder as she caught Nathan’s hand. Then she dragged him back down the hall, bursting into the kitchen just in time to see Cyrene loading his rifle.
    ‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Quick!’
    ‘You go.’ Cyrene pushed the bolt down with a practised movement. ‘Go and tell the police. I’ll stay.’
    ‘But Cy !’
    ‘You’ll be all right,’ he assured her, tucking the butt of the .22 under his arm. ‘I gotta do some things. Check the phone wires –’
    ‘He’s cut ’em, I told you!’
    ‘Maybe.’ Cyrene went to the front door, opened it and peered out, the barrel of his gun pointing at the floor. ‘If it is him, and that’s what he’s done, then he’s mad enough to burn the whole bloody house down, as long as no one’s here to stop ’im.’
    ‘Cyrene?’ said Nathan. Looking down, the old man saw the boy’s upturned face, pale and anxious. ‘Are ya gunna shoot
    my dad?’
    ‘’Course not. You go, now. You go with Mum.’
    ‘You’re gunna shoot ’im, aren’t ya?’
    ‘No I’m not.’
    ‘He’s gotta be careful, Nathan.’
    ‘That’s right. We’ve all gotta be careful until we work out what’s goin on.’ Cyrene held open the creaking screen door, allowing Grace and her son to push past. He followed them to the ute, scanning the scrubby horizon, his eyes screwed up against the glare. He studied the collapsed and empty chicken coop, which was all splintered wood and torn wire. He studied the oldman saltbush near the front gate, because it had been there a long time, and was big enough to provide cover for a person bent double. He swivelled on his heel to check that no one was peering round the big structures – the garage and the dog-shed. All the while, Grace was bundling Nathan into the ute and climbing in after him. She adjusted the seat, the mirror. She struggled with the seat belts.
    ‘Know where to go?’ Cyrene asked.
    ‘The coppers, y’mean? I’ll find ’em.’
    ‘They’re on