10-01-2023, 12:45 AM
HALFWAY BETWEEN ALICE SPRINGS & GHAN
The small white van screeches to a dead stop, slams into reverse and shoots back
about twenty yards - then stops again.
“I’ll get it.” offers Alex, Rod’s fourteen year-old son.
“NO, I will! You keep watch.” Rod counters.
Alex grabs the .50 cal rifle and climbs from the back seat. Rod leaps from the still-running
van and speeds to the rear, throwing the back doors wide open. Alex stands guard, scanning
the barren red surroundings.
Rod claims the newly found roadside item, quickly crams it into the van and jumps back inside.
They race away as though it were a crime scene.
“Thank you daddy!” Milly says beaming.
“No more stops.” Rod replies bluntly.
The tiny, blonde six-year old fumbles in her dirty, tattered pink purse in search of his reward. Found it!
“You get a gold star.” she says sweetly, placing it onto his left wrist.
“Thank you.”
They barrel past a sign that reads GHAN 107 km.
“What’s going on?” asks Beth, Rod’s wife, rousing from some road-trip shut-eye.
“Puttin’ miles behind us.”
There was an unexpected calm in the vehicle. An acceptance of sorts - not only of the
situation at hand, but of the many potentially unfavorable outcomes.
Beth returns to her nap. Milly carries on singing a jingle from her favorite cartoon. Alex stares
vacantly out the window. On the face of it, you’d never know they were running for their lives.
Then it happened - one of those unfavorable outcomes.
The van starts knocking - the old spit & sputter - a few more knocks and it dies.
“Fuckin’ Christ!” Rod yells, pounding both fists on the dash.
Beth sits up in the passenger seat.
“What’s wrong, why are we stopped?”
“Daddy said a swear.” Milly declares quietly.
“We had enough gas, goddamnit!”
“You think it’s a leak?” she asks.
“I don’t know. That or the fucking gauge is off!”
Milly reaches forward from the back seat.
“You lose your gold star.” she says with a grimace, removing the sticker from her father’s wrist.
“Where are we?” Beth questions.
“Imanpa.” Alex replies.
“So how much further?”
“Two-hundred fucking kilometers!” Rod shouts, punching the dashboard once more.
“We will never make that, not out here.” she says with a tremble.
“We got no choice. We’ve got to try.” Rod states solemnly.
A quiet few moments pass.
“We’ll take as much as we can carry. Only the essentials. Let’s move.”
On his command, they exit the vehicle gathering at the rear. He opens the back doors
and is greeted by an almost forgotten gift.
“Looks like Milly just saved us.” he announces.
That roadside item she pleaded over - a rusty little red wagon. It had seen better days
but was still intact and functional. This meant they could transport their few remaining
supplies. Not to mention the five gallon water jug - which was still nearly full.
Rod and Alex load the wagon. Beth fills two backpacks with most of what’s left. Milly makes
sure to pack her purse with all that will fit. They save the important things for last.
Rod tucks away two handguns and grabs the flamethrower and fuel tank. Alex follows suit,
sticking a pistol in his pocket, then taking up the rifle. Beth hands Alex one of the packs, slings
the other over her shoulder and straps a sheathed machete to her back, keeping one in hand.
It was time to march.
https://imgur.com/RfCeCMc
"Killing Fields" - First in the four-part series 'Chimera'.
Mixed media on plywood. My 131st painting.
The small white van screeches to a dead stop, slams into reverse and shoots back
about twenty yards - then stops again.
“I’ll get it.” offers Alex, Rod’s fourteen year-old son.
“NO, I will! You keep watch.” Rod counters.
Alex grabs the .50 cal rifle and climbs from the back seat. Rod leaps from the still-running
van and speeds to the rear, throwing the back doors wide open. Alex stands guard, scanning
the barren red surroundings.
Rod claims the newly found roadside item, quickly crams it into the van and jumps back inside.
They race away as though it were a crime scene.
“Thank you daddy!” Milly says beaming.
“No more stops.” Rod replies bluntly.
The tiny, blonde six-year old fumbles in her dirty, tattered pink purse in search of his reward. Found it!
“You get a gold star.” she says sweetly, placing it onto his left wrist.
“Thank you.”
They barrel past a sign that reads GHAN 107 km.
“What’s going on?” asks Beth, Rod’s wife, rousing from some road-trip shut-eye.
“Puttin’ miles behind us.”
There was an unexpected calm in the vehicle. An acceptance of sorts - not only of the
situation at hand, but of the many potentially unfavorable outcomes.
Beth returns to her nap. Milly carries on singing a jingle from her favorite cartoon. Alex stares
vacantly out the window. On the face of it, you’d never know they were running for their lives.
Then it happened - one of those unfavorable outcomes.
The van starts knocking - the old spit & sputter - a few more knocks and it dies.
“Fuckin’ Christ!” Rod yells, pounding both fists on the dash.
Beth sits up in the passenger seat.
“What’s wrong, why are we stopped?”
“Daddy said a swear.” Milly declares quietly.
“We had enough gas, goddamnit!”
“You think it’s a leak?” she asks.
“I don’t know. That or the fucking gauge is off!”
Milly reaches forward from the back seat.
“You lose your gold star.” she says with a grimace, removing the sticker from her father’s wrist.
“Where are we?” Beth questions.
“Imanpa.” Alex replies.
“So how much further?”
“Two-hundred fucking kilometers!” Rod shouts, punching the dashboard once more.
“We will never make that, not out here.” she says with a tremble.
“We got no choice. We’ve got to try.” Rod states solemnly.
A quiet few moments pass.
“We’ll take as much as we can carry. Only the essentials. Let’s move.”
On his command, they exit the vehicle gathering at the rear. He opens the back doors
and is greeted by an almost forgotten gift.
“Looks like Milly just saved us.” he announces.
That roadside item she pleaded over - a rusty little red wagon. It had seen better days
but was still intact and functional. This meant they could transport their few remaining
supplies. Not to mention the five gallon water jug - which was still nearly full.
Rod and Alex load the wagon. Beth fills two backpacks with most of what’s left. Milly makes
sure to pack her purse with all that will fit. They save the important things for last.
Rod tucks away two handguns and grabs the flamethrower and fuel tank. Alex follows suit,
sticking a pistol in his pocket, then taking up the rifle. Beth hands Alex one of the packs, slings
the other over her shoulder and straps a sheathed machete to her back, keeping one in hand.
It was time to march.
https://imgur.com/RfCeCMc
"Killing Fields" - First in the four-part series 'Chimera'.
Mixed media on plywood. My 131st painting.
