On the Run Read Online Free PDF Page A

no point talking Australian wildlife with his old man. It wasn’t Dad’s thing.
    They plunged ever downward, the ridges and ruts in the road becoming deeper the farther they drove. For five minutes nobody spoke.
    Ben figured that every future vacation could only be better than this. He clutched the broken armrest in his door and dug his feet into the floor. The nose of the car was pitched so far forward it felt as though they might somersault.
    Bang! The front right wheel dropped. They stopped.
    Dad set the handbrake, opened his door, and climbed out to inspect the damage. Hum of engine, chill of night, and smell of fumes filled the car. The lights were trained on a sharp left-hand bend farther down the road. It looked like a steep drop over the edge of the bend.
    â€œDo you think this is the right way?” Ben whispered, careful Dad did not hear.
    Mum shrugged, chewing on the skin of her thumb.
    A minute or two passed before Dad got back into the car. “Can’t see a thing.”
    He released the handbrake and turned the wheel far to the left, his door still open. He revved hard, and the back wheels spun, howling into the night. Ben prayed that they would get out of this, but the car didn’t move. Mum sighed. Ben balled his fists, digging his nails into his palms. He wondered how Olive could sleep.
    The engine screamed, and the wheels continued to spin. Dad turned the wheel to the right, and the front of the car jerked suddenly up and forward. Dad slammed his door, and they lurched ahead, toward the sharp left-hand bend.
    Dad took the corner too fast, and the back of the car slipped toward the drop, then corrected. Soon, bushes bunched in on either side of them. Screeeeek. Branches scratching. Dad growled. The screeeeek went on, digging its claws into the paintwork, before a clearing appeared ahead and the bushes opened up on either side.
    â€œThis is it,” Dad said.
    A timber cabin came into view, hunched against the forest and darkness. It was built of long logs, half a foot thick, running straight up and down from ground to roof. One dark window and a door next to it. Trees huddled low over the cabin just as Ben had imagined, the ridges in the corrugated iron roof choked with leaves.
    The car came to a stop. Dad twisted the key and switched off the engine.
    â€œI’m not getting out,” Ben said.

 
    THE DEAD OF NIGHT
    â€œYes, you are,” Dad said.
    Cabin. Dark, sad, villainous.
    â€œAre you really sure this is it?” Ben asked.
    â€œYes. I’m sure,” Dad replied, a trickle of venom in his voice.
    â€œWe’ll stay in the car,” Mum said.
    Ben was quiet.
    Dad looked at him. “Big girl,” he said under his breath. “Y’scared?”
    Dad knew that Ben didn’t like being called a “girl” or “scared.”
    Dad opened his door.
    Ben opened his. The shhhhhh of water rushed into the car, a river or stream nearby. Ben stepped out, quietly clicked his door closed, and moved toward the cabin, half a step behind his father. He scanned the ground for snakes, every cell in his body pleading to return to the car. A frog croaked loudly nearby. Insects sang a never-ending song in the trees all around. The headlights cast monstrous moving shadows of Ben and Dad onto the cabin. Ben felt a bite on his arm and slapped it. There was a call from deep within the woods to the right that sounded like a baby’s cry.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Ben grabbed Dad’s tattooed arm and fell into step beside him.
    â€œNight birds,” Dad said quietly. “I s’pose.”
    They arrived at the door. Ben looked back at the car. Mum was hidden behind the starry headlight flare.
    Dad tried the door handle. It didn’t open. There was a rusted metal keyhole. Dad swore and went to the window, trying to get the tips of his fingers into the cracks and lift.
    â€œDon’t we have a key?” Ben asked.
    Dad did not respond. After a