Free A Shot at Freedom by Kelli Bradicich Page B

gardening tools with him. On his way to the ground, his head bounced against the tray back, slamming down on bitumen. “Shit!”
    The skinny -hipped girl crouched down beside him. All he could make out were her boots. She propped one of his eyes open. “You got a place to stay?”
    David grinned at her.
    A kick in his bruised leg caught his attention. He looked up at what had to be the boyfriend. “Town’s that way. Water that way. Rainforest all the way up this mountain … keep heading down this road and you’ll make it to the jetty.”
    The girl was dragged away.
    David rolled into the gully, his face ploughing into his bag. He nuzzled into it like it was a pillow. The girl must’ve broken free and found her way back to his side. She pushed something into his back pocket.
    He tapped at it, and drew it out. Money!
    “No , put it back. It’ll blow away.”
    “A fifty?”
    “Nup. Just a twenty.”
    “Thanks. I gave a truckie everything I had.”
    “That was stupid.”
    “It was hers. She stole it.”
    “Hers?”
    “I couldn’t keep it.”
    She shook her head and frowned. “Can you make it up into the forest and sleep it off?”
    “Yep.”
    He lay there.
    The girl walked away. The four doors on the shiny, new ute slammed.
    He didn’t hear them drive away.
    ***
    Hot feet with busted blisters feel like third degree burns . David eased his boots off, and forced himself to stand one more time to slam the last peg of the one man tent into ground. Inside, he unfurled his sleeping bag and dumped his bag in the corner.
    White flecks picked through his vision as he trudged uphill in search of the stream he could hear gurgling through the greenery. Waves of nausea forced him to stop to gather himself. He didn’t vomit and stopped himself from sitting down for fear he wouldn’t stand up again. 
    The trickle of the water grew louder. His senses were off. He nearly stumbled over it. Streaming down the mountain side was a tiny waterfall. It exploded from a hole in the rocks, splattering into a small pond before disappearing into a cavern.
    David bent down and allowed the water to run through his splayed fingers. He cupped his hands and took it to his cracked lips. It ran down his chin, lingering on his tongue a moment before wetting his raspy throat. Rain water, he thought.  The rain water in their tank at home ran through rusted pipes to their taps. This rain water tasted like it’d brushed over crystals. There was a difference. He nuzzled his face and hair into the stream, desperate to drink it and feel its coolness all at once.
    He wished he had pitched his tent closer. Even though h e could picture his sleeping bag spread inside his tent with longing, it was difficult tearing himself away from the water. He only had one bottle to fill. Wet and slippery, he cradled it in his arms.
    Three big steps down the mountain and he flopped to the ground. The spray flew up and tickled his skin. With his ear to the earth he swore he could hear the stream tunnelling free to the sea. The damp, mossy ground offered the comfort of a soft mattress and a tall buttressed tree formed a protective canopy.
    H e allowed his eyes to close, and felt the world drop away as he released himself into a deep drunken sleep.

 
    Chapter Twelve
    Brooke
    Brooke sat on the retaining wall at the edge of the mini basketball court, watching the next worker, Carly, shoot hoops. She wondered what Josie had said about her in handover. Carly had been particularly friendly towards her since she’d taken over.
    “That’s six in a row,” Brooke said, watching her dribble the ball. She could tell she’d done this before. The muscles in her arms and legs gave a hint that she had something to offer the game and could do justice to any team.
    “Do you think I can make seven?” Carly asked, resting the ball on her hip.
    Brooke stared up at the ring . “Seven’s an unlucky number.”
    “Nah. It’s my favourite number.”  With long legged strides she