“Could I just sit here a little longer?” Surprised to be staring down the business end of a shotgun, the young man held up his palm in defence. A golden band shifted on his rain-slicked ring finger. “I’m not a danger, I promise.”
The roadhouse assistant glanced at the wedding ring and lowered her aim by an inch. Outside the building, the rain continued to pour. The night thundered and moaned. An eighteen-wheeler cut through the wash, sounding its air horn, blasting greetings to the last stop for sixty kilometres.
“I’m just so glad to see you.” Water dripped from the man’s eyelashes. “I know you don’t know me, but I’m glad to see a face. Could I just have a minute?”
“You’re making a puddle,” she nodded to the water dripping from the man’s oilskin.
“I’m sorry.” The man combed wet hair off his brow with unsteady fingers. “If I could just rest here—?”
“On the floor of my shop? Hell, no.” The attendant looked over her shoulder toward the counter. “I saw you come in, you know? I know you knocked over my Red Bull display. I spent all afternoon balancing those cans.”
“I’m so sorry. I think I slipped. My shoes are soaked through.”
“You’re one of Hodgson’s little gang, aren’t you? I’ve reported you boys to the Police, y’know. They have footage of you breaking into the workshop and opening gas bottles.” The woman looked the young man up and down. “And what’s in your other hand?”
“I don’t know who Hodgson is. I’m working. I drive that truck.” The young man stretched a finger to point outside toward the bowsers.
“Are you new?”
“Yeah, it’s my first job. I’ve been trucking loads from the quarry for a few months. Dad got me a trial with the Salvatores. I’ve been in here a handful of times, mostly for diesel. Sometimes I get a pie.”
The attendant narrowed her gaze as if recognising something in the young man’s gentle face.
“I want to tell you what happened, but I’m not sure how you’ll react.” The man shivered as he squatted against a chocolate display. “I don’t want you to kick me back out into the rain. I’m not dangerous. At least, I don’t think I am.”
“I don’t know whether to call the cops or fetch you the mop,” the attendant nodded at the water spreading over the floor. “You’ve piqued my interest, though. Let’s hear five minutes of this adventure of yours. Then we’ll decide if you’ll be riding out of here in a paddy wagon or not.”
“Thanks. Thank you.” The young man ran a thumb and forefinger over his nose. Water collected in his palm. “I hope you’ll just say I’ve spooked myself. I’ll be happy to mop up for you.”
“Four minutes, fifty,” the attendant raised a cynical eyebrow.
“Ok. I want to say I was almost at Boulder Rock a shave before midnight. I’m driving along the highway from Westdale. I’d passed Flint and Christmas Well. Visibility was next to nothing.” The man shifted on his haunches. “Look at it out there. This rain, plus the fog pouring out of the forest—I was doing twenty-five in a hundred zone, tops. Honestly, it felt like I was crawling through the forest.”
“I live down that way. I know how it gets.” The attendant nodded.
“I’m on a long straight when I see a fallen tree. It’s a widow maker of colossal proportions right across my lane. Even at twenty clicks per hour, I feel like I’m on it in a flash. I locked up the wheels, trying to stop.”
The young man looked up to check the attendant’s reaction. Her grip on the firearm seemed to have loosened, yet her eyes were still wide and white. A clip swept the hair from her brow. The pulsing vein beneath her temple glistened under the buzzing fluorescent tubes. He softened his voice and looked back to the floor.
“The leaves on the fallen giant billowed at the end of my bonnet. I started to worry about someone rear-ending me. I left all my lights on and grabbed the breakdown kit—you know, one of those bags you get from Supercheap’s with the cones and the reflective triangles?”
The woman, perhaps with impatience, nodded for him to continue.
“I also grabbed my chainsaw. The second I opened my door, the downpour drenched me. I’ve never seen a storm like it. Thunder barrelled through the trees, but I saw no lightning. Out in the Marri forest, it’s just pitch black.”
Behind the attendant, the door chimed. Three short blasts of electronic urgency bleated across the store. The woman glanced over to the entrance, but within a second, her eyes were back on the young man.
“It’s no one.” She huffed a deep breath. “The door malfunctions in winds like this. Come on, tell me why you’re in here. So far, it’s little more than a weather report.”
“Ok. Ok. This is when it begins. I started to place the cones behind the truck. The triangle just blew away—but the cones were much heavier.
“I kept looking back into the fog, terrified a car would plough straight into me. I really wanted to start cutting up that tree. At least then, the truck would block traffic in my lane. As I placed the last cone, a spark of light stabbed through the mist. Of course, I thought it might be a vehicle, so I started back to the truck.”
The young man stopped, swallowed and collected himself.
“Three times, I looked back. One moment, it was there. The next, it was gone.”
At this, the attendant shifted the weight on her feet. Again, the young man hesitated, unsure whether the woman had grown impatient or something in the tale resonated with her.
“I walked to the front of my vehicle and around the fallen tree, terrified of getting clipped by traffic coming either way. As I fired up the chainsaw, I looked back at my rig. I saw this guy standing at the rear of my truck—he just appeared in the glow of my clearance lights—walking toward me.”
“A man?”
“Yeah, a really tall man. The straps on my truck are about here on me,” the young man flattened his hand at chin height. “I could see he stood head and shoulders above the clips. He’s holding this cracked plastic torch, which flickered on and off.”
“The light you’d seen?”
“Yeah. But this guy doesn’t seem to care about the flicker. He’s holding it like it’s part of him. I’m cutting through the tree limbs and watching him get nearer. One eye on the timber, one on this huge figure coming out of the gloom. He kept coming toward me as if he didn’t hear the saw. I tried to convince myself that he might want to help. He looked like he could drag the tree away under one arm.”
The young man coughed and then shook his head, hoping the cards of his story may mentally shuffle into a more ordered deck.
“As he got closer, though, I just wanted him to keep walking. Yeah, the way he walked—it wasn’t right, disconnected, disjointed, somehow—not right.”
“Could you see properly?” The attendant’s voice sounded drier than before. “Maybe the rain threw you off?”
“Possibly, the details are vague. I think the shock has—it’s like recalling a boozy night out from several months ago. As he got closer, I watched him more than my work. I’m lucky I didn’t take my damned leg off. And still, the rain is heaving.
“I can hear the boughs above creaking, swaying in the wind. I’m worried another beam will crack free and crush me from above—widow makers, remember.”
Captivated by the young man’s story, the attendant managed an “uh-huh.”
“This guy, this huge man, stopped on the other side of the tree. Everything about his proportions, his sheer size, twisted physique, and the facial hair growing from almost under his eyes seemed unnatural.”
Once more, the young man wiped his sodden face. A solution of rainwater and nervous sweat formed rivulets across his throat.
“I had the MiniBoss for protection. Still, he looked like a giant against my little chainsaw. I revved the engine. Two-stroke fumes tore away on the wind. I hoped the noise might wake this man from his blank-eyed stupor. Or at least sound threatening.
“I tell you, his face looked swollen like a prizefighter after twelve rounds. His eyes looked like melted fish eyes—did you ever stare into those at the fishmongers? It’s like death ogling you, licking its lips for a date in the future. This guy didn’t look drunk or like he’d been eating mushrooms, but something was amiss—”
The store bell rang again, startling the attendant and the young man. Once more, the woman snapped a glimpse back toward the counter.
“Just the wind,” she said. “Did this stranger say anything to you?”
“I didn’t want to turn off the chainsaw. But he stood right in front of me. I let the revs die down and nodded like I’m saying hello. He stood too close. Even in the storm, I swear I could smell his B.O.
“My dad always told me a step and a half away is out of reach. This guy stood about a step away, and with the length of his arms, I felt like he could reach out and squash me. The tree between us was the only barrier.”
“And what d’he say?”
“He goes, It’s dark. This motherfucker is like No Country for Old Men.” The young man checked the attendant. “You know that movie?”
“No.”
“Keep your torch on. I say back to him, hoping he takes this as a hint to keep walking. After a beat, he walks to the centre of the road, steps through the foliage and continues down the road.”
“What did you do?”
“I felt naked against the open road. I couldn’t turn my back and start cutting the branches again. I just watched him pass. I remember drawing a long, cold breath, and then he stopped. He turned back to me.
“His torch flickered on and off and on again. He looked at me as if he’d remembered something, as if we were old friends, as if he were going to say, Are you seriously not going to give me a lift? I let the air free of my lungs, my breath clouded and raced past him in the gale.”
“I would’ve run.” The attendant dropped her aim and crossed the shotgun across her other arm.
“He stepped back toward me and said, It is very dark. I started to say something about only having the work truck and how the Salvatores wouldn’t want me picking up hitchhikers. I kept apologising. Eventually, he turned and walked—didn’t say another thing.
“Only now, I could see he only wore one shoe. It looked like it had a thousand kilometres on the clock. It was so dirty and ragged. I couldn’t even make out the brand.”
The young man took a long breath before starting again.
“The guy’s spooked me. Nothing felt right. I got tunnel vision. My senses were loaded, but I couldn’t see or hear anything. The chainsaw sounded a hundred metres away.
“I couldn’t hear the tree limbs groaning above me. I just shook with cold, cold like those dead fish eyes. And I looked up the road for that damned flashlight.
“I dragged the loose branches from the front of my truck. The cuts I’d made left thick limbs sticking out into the lane. Without the softer foliage, I worried nobody would see the danger, but I couldn’t bear to stay a moment longer. I wanted to feel safe. I threw my saw into the cab, left my cones out there to warn other drivers of the hazard, and locked myself into the truck.
“The interior light stayed on for an eternity. All the while, I looked ahead into the storm, trying to make out any sign of light. I fired up the truck and killed the stereo. This was not a Southern River Band moment. Steering around the mess of branches, I started up through the gears. I wanted out of there but didn’t want to hit that bastard.
“A hundred metres went by. Another hundred passed, and I saw nothing. I guessed he’d cut into the trees when boom. There he is, dead centre of my headlights. This crazy prick is walking back toward me in the middle of the road. I swung out into the oncoming lane—I swear I didn’t hit him, but…”
“Christ, he can’t be still out there?” The woman shifted on her heels.
“Do you know him?”
“It’s impossible.’ The attendant squinted into the storm as it flashed against the store windows. Her eyes flickered from side to side as if pulling memories from the corners of her mind.
“In the full headlights, I could see his clothes.” The young man slapped his knee. “Even in the rain, from head to toe, he looked like an oil stain. And barely hanging onto one foot, he wore a busted-up Converse basketball shoe—so weird set against the rest of his get-up.”
“And then you drove here?” The attendant sounded like she wanted to draw a line under the whole account.
“Well,” the young man straightened his back. “I sped out of there, no more twenty-five kph. I wanted gone. But I don’t think I got far.”
He shook his head, snared by an ambivalence to finish the story.
“Something blurred straight out of the tree line. I didn’t even try to swerve. I felt it go under every wheel. Horrible. Just horrible. I swear it was a roo. But I didn’t go back to look.”
“You made it here,” a softer tone entered the attendant’s voice for the first time in their exchange. “I do think you’ve just spooked yourself. But you still haven’t shown me what’s in your other hand. What are you hiding?”
The young man dropped his chin onto his chest.
“When I got here, I checked my rig for damage.”
He raised his right hand; until now, hidden from the attendant. In a white-knuckled fist, he clutched a dirty basketball shoe. A grimy red plastic star bent beneath his fingers.
“I found this in the grill.” Tears burst over the boy’s cheeks.
The attendant gasped.
“Oh shit.” She stared at the broken shoe. “But, it’s impossible.”
“You keep saying that.” The young man looked up as if pleading for forgiveness. “But what do you mean?”
“I think I know, er, knew him.”
“We should call the cops. Get back out there and look for him.”
“He was the walking man. You know those guys you see everywhere? They walk from one place to another. They never seem to rest. He was our walking man. Every day, he’d set out from Karragullen through the Jarrahdale State Forest along the highway toward Westdale. It must’ve taken him twelve hours.”
The attendant and the young man looked at each other as if hoping for the other to make sense of the situation.
“He’d sleep in old man Curry’s barn,” the attendant nodded in an arbitrary direction. “I guess he had a similar arrangement in Westdale. I served him a bunch of times, but he only bought packs of Biltong and a Pepsi. I never sold him anything else.”
“Why was he out there?”
“Ahh, people tell all kinds of stories. Especially after what…” The attendant looked into the young man’s eyes. “…after what happened.”
“You have to tell me.”
“I think he was fine, once. He played high school basketball. He married a girl called Jennifer—she was a few years older than me in high school. I knew of her, but they split or something and took a break. Jen moved away and took their baby with her. Remember me mentioning the Hodgson gang?”
The young man nodded.
“That kid grew up and moved back into the area. These days, he does nothing but cause trouble. Never had a father figure, I guess. They say his dad went mad with the heartache and just started to walk. But that was eighteen years ago.”
“Eighteen years?”
“Yeah, one night, he got hit by a truck. They found nothing but an old Converse boot,” the attendant nodded towards the young man’s hand. “Never found his body. The West wrote a whole column about it. The driver—I think his name was Carnegie—said he’d swerved to avoid a fallen tree. That’s when—”
“He hit him,” the young man whispered.
“That’s not everything,” the woman sighed. “Hitting a man in your truck is no trivial matter. I heard Carnegie’s wife say the guilt destroyed him. On the anniversary of the accident, they found him hanging in Curry’s barn.”
“Where the walking man used to sleep?”
The woman nodded. “And I don’t think old man Curry even knew the Carnegies.”
The shop doorbell rang, and the door bounced against the frame. The attendant turned and paused. She stared over at the counter. Instead of coming back to the young man, she shuffled half a step away. Sitting by the till, a packet of Biltong jerky lay next to a can of Pepsi. A small pool of rainwater crept across the counter.
