Free Clancy of the Undertow by Christopher Currie Page A

have spouted half-baked conspiracies all the way through his business degree, about the World Bank or the Illuminati or alien coverups: any of a number of obsessively insane theories he’s crammed into his head at the expense of basic life skills.
    ‘Rather be a sheep than a loon,’ I say under my breath.

16
    We drive for about forty minutes, coming way up into the hills, following the spiral road that circles partway up Mount Meyer. On the other side is the national park and between, over the crest of the mountain, is thick bushland that gradually grades up into cool air and a kind of half-rainforest.
    Angus swings off the main road and plunges us down a dirt track with a sign that tells me it’s a firebreak. The canopy of trees closes tighter and tighter above us and after a couple of minutes Angus pulls the ute to the side of the road and kills the engine. It’s only after we stop that I remember I wanted to drive part of the way. I remind myself to nag Angus about it on the way back.
    ‘This is it,’ he says.
    ‘I’m not going to have to walk through mud am I?’ I peer out at the dark foliage lining the track.
    ‘Nah, it’s cool. You can walk it fine in sneakers or whatever.’
    ‘Can I walk it in my only pair of shoes?’
    ‘Absolutely,’ he says, hopping out of the car.
    I get out, surprised by how cold the air is. Something flies at my face, smothering it, and I scrabble to get it off.
    ‘It’s a jumper,’ says Angus, ‘you pussy. Temperature drop.’
    ‘You could’ve just handed it to me.’ It’s some scratchy army surplus thing, but I put it on.
    ‘Not out here. We’re adventuring now.’
    I roll my eyes. ‘How often do you drink your own urine when you’re up here adventuring ? More than at home, or the same amount?’
    A backpack hits me in the head.
    When we’re all strapped in, Angus plunges off the track at a seemingly random point.
    ‘Jesus. Wait!’ I’m worried at how dark it’ll be in the bush, and how my legs will most likely come out covered in leeches.
    ‘There’s a track just through here,’ says Angus from somewhere behind what I’m sure is a fatally poisonous tree.
    I follow his voice through the thicket and sure enough it opens up a bit and there’s a faint track winding through the bush. It’s slightly lighter, somehow, too, like we’ve just gone through the forest’s front hall and are now in the living room. The sun is a glimmer in the tops of the gum trees.
    ‘Nice,’ I say involuntarily.
    ‘I know, right? Come on, just up this way.’ Angus ducks under a branch and skips up the track. He’s got a silver box in his hand. It’s got a little handle and it looks a bit like a tape player.
    ‘What’s that you’re carrying?’
    ‘Digital recorder. For audio.’
    ‘Course it is.’ I start to wonder what’s hidden in my backpack. A taser? Half a gram of coke? My brother could be up to anything out here.
    The track takes us up a hill and there’s spiky grass that cuts into my shins. ‘Are there snakes here?’ I say.
    ‘No snakes,’ says Angus over his shoulder. ‘All the scorpions scare them away.’
    We get to the crest of the hill and Angus stops. He holds his arm out so I can’t walk past him.
    ‘Why’d you stop?’
    ‘Shh.’ Angus puts his finger up to his lips.
    ‘What?’
    ‘D’you hear that?’ Angus’s eyes are shifting wildly, trying to catch something up in the canopy.
    ‘What?’
    ‘If you listen really closely…’ There’s a pause, then he rips a huge fart.
    ‘Gross!’ I say, screwing up my face. ‘That sounded solid.’
    He giggles like an idiot. ‘If a man farts in the forest and no one’s around to hear it…’ then he’s laughing too hard to talk.
    ‘Really mature,’ I say. ‘This all you do out here? Just shart and play explorers?’
    Angus is still laughing. ‘You wouldn’t know a joke if it bit you on the arse.’
    ‘Let’s keep moving then, before something does bite me on the arse.’
    Angus points