I went to the back door, flicked on the spotlight out the back and swung the door wide open while pointing the gun in the approximate direction of the shadows. “What the hell’s going on out here?” I yelled, in as tough a tone as I could muster. Can’t say it went that well. The spotlight blinded me, the door swung back and smashed me in the right arm, I accidently pulled the trigger and the rifle went off. There was a yell and a crash, and I saw somebody fall back onto a pile of old petrol cans. My arm hurt like hell. My heart was going like the clappers. I thought I’d killed someone. Already I could tell that this was going be a ‘different’ sort of day. Not in a good way. At least, that’s how it started. When my eyes adjusted and I’d put another bullet in the chamber, I could see a youngish bloke sitting in the dust, examining a nice, clean .22 shaped hole in his Akubra. “Close,” he says. And he’s smiling. Looked about as dangerous as a sleeping koala. “Don’t move an inch,” I said. “What are you doing out here? Where’s your car?” “No car. Walking. Just looking to refill my water bottle. Could you give me a drink? Please.” Educated voice. Manners. An out-of-towner for sure. “You scared the shit out of me, city boy, stumbling round out the back here. Why couldn’t you just come through the front door and ask, like a normal person? No-one leaves tap handles on their tanks out here. You not heard about the drought?” “Thought you might be sleeping,” he said. “Didn’t look all that busy. I didn’t want to bother you”. He held up a an old plastic two-litre drink bottle. “Don’t need much.” 58
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTI3ODI1