Catherine Jinks TheRoad (17 page)

‘You want me to take over?’ Graham inquired, after a long pause. In the McKenzie code, this meant: you’re not saying much, you must be tired. Before Chris could respond, however, both brothers caught sight of a shape up ahead. Drawing closer, they saw that it was an enormous truck, clumsily parked on the side of the road.

Chris immediately reduced his speed.

‘I think he wants some help,’ said Graham, of the man who was hovering at the rear of the motionless vehicle. On closer inspection, this mechanical monster had revealed itself to be a road train, with two huge trailers attached to the truck.

Its driver, in contrast, was quite small: a stocky young guy with a head of dark, curly hair, wearing blue jeans and a grey T-shirt. Easing to a halt beside him, Chris noticed that he looked all shaken up, as if he’d had an accident. But he wasn’t hurt. That much was obvious.

‘You all right?’ Graham asked.

‘Nah, mate, not really. Run outta fuel.’

‘Yeah?’ said Graham. Chris lifted an eyebrow. It was not a predicament that he would have considered normal among those who carried freight for a living.

‘Well,’ he remarked, ‘if this was a Turbodiesel we could have given you a top-up, but we’ve only got unleaded back there.’

‘Oh.’ The truck driver shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t be enough anyway. Look, ah . . .’ He hesitated, squinting down the road as if ashamed to meet Chris’s eye. ‘You headin for Broken Hill?’

‘Yeah.’ Chris thought: where else would we be heading? But he suspected that the comment was a roundabout way of begging a lift, and gave the stranded truckie a once-over, noting the mobile on the belt, the watch on the wrist, the sunglasses dangling from the restless fingers. ‘You want to hop in?’

‘Aw, mate.’ The guy’s whole body sagged. The lines on his sunburned face relaxed a little. ‘Could I?’

Graham shrugged. ‘Plenty of room,’ he said.

‘Thanks.Thanks a lot.Bloody hell,I’m just ...he’sgunna tear a strip off me.’

‘Who is?’

‘The boss. If I keep me bloody job, I’ll be lucky.’

As the engine idled, and the McKenzies waited, their new acquaintance scrambled into the back seat. He smelled sweaty and seemed nervous – though not in a threatening way. Antsy, Chris decided. He was antsy. A bit strung out.

Pep pills, perhaps?

‘This is Graham, and I’m Chris.’ Hearing the back door slam, Chris removed his foot from the brake, and they set off again. ‘You going to be right, in Broken Hill? Do you know someone there?’

‘I live there.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘I’m Alec. Muller.’

‘Is that an Iridium satellite phone?’

It was Graham who asked the question. He had spent a lot of time researching the satellite phone market before choosing a suitable product. Alec shifted his weight.

‘Yeah,’ he answered. ‘But it’s stuffed.’

‘Why? Power problems?’ asked Graham.

‘I dunno.’

‘Were you trying to call someone?’ Chris interrupted, and exchanged a quick glance with Graham, who added, ‘We’ve got one ourselves, if you need to make a call.’

There was no immediate response. Flicking a look at the rearview mirror, Chris saw that Alec was biting his thumbnail, a troubled expression on his face. Chris decided not to press for an answer. It went against the McKenzie grain to prod and pry. Then Alec said: ‘Does
yours
work?’

‘Our phone? Should do.’

‘Yeah,’ said Graham. ‘Here.’ He removed it from the glove-box. Chris was watching the road ahead, so he didn’t see exactly what Graham did next. But there were enough clicks and grunts to suggest that Graham was dealing with an uncooperative piece of technology.

‘Bloody thing’s not working,’ Graham finally declared.

‘Eh?’ Chris frowned. ‘Must be.’