Free Beyond Carousel by Brendan Ritchie Page A

thought about bridges.
    â€˜I know there are some closer to the city,’ I replied.
    Taylor looked at me for a moment, then nodded.
    We kept onward between the river and the highway and at dusk we came across a racetrack. We walked our bikes through the patchy, overgrown grass of the track, past a series of windblown marquees and an ageing grandstand. The whole place felt sad and not part of a world just gone, but something of another age entirely. Where people rode horses in great circles so that others could dress up, drink and trade money.
    â€˜Old World,’ said Lizzy.
    I nodded. It was the term we had started using for places like this that seemed totally normal just years ago, but now felt somehow ancient and strange.
    No breeze had come that afternoon and the night felt as hot as the day. We slept out under a skewered marquee and woke with mosquito bites spread dangerously across our arms and legs. We were inadvertently playing a numbers game where the more bites meant the more chance of a virus. No big deal in our previous lives, but out here things might be different.
    Taylor hovered restlessly as Lizzy and I yawned and fumbled about with breakfast. She was eager to keep moving. As if every minute that passed lessened her chances of finding her painter. Maybe the heat was slowing us down. Maybe Perth was bigger and more sprawling than I remembered. Either way, our progress was slow. We trudged our way forward, then spent the night in a soulless, box-like motel shouting
Free Foxtel
on every surface. I didn’t feel so bad kicking our way into one of these places. Not like somebody’s house or business. But it was quiet and eerie as hell. We were desperate for our own space, but too scared to spread out into separate rooms. The beds were still made but covered with dust, so we stripped them back and started over with sheets from a housekeeping trolley. Not that we needed any. It was muggy and unsettled outside, and breathless in.
    We hadn’t found anywhere with power or running water since the warehouse. Lizzy and I had climbed to the top of the motel to see if there were any pockets of light in the surrounding suburbs. The view wasn’t exactly panoramic, and we found nothing. An Artist-free zone.
    Still the highway kept on southward. Occasionally we would get a glimpse across the river to the city. At the conclusion of each lightshow, it had remained black and mysterious. No towers of light or giant mining logos. But now, during daylight, it seemed grey and steadfast, and no different to any other day.
    The only stores we passed were service stations, where cars were still attached to bowsers. We pillaged tepid water, Gatorade and whatever else we could stomach without cramping too badly.
    As the sun finally dipped into a murky bank of storm clouds we settled on a narrow high-rise of self-contained apartments peering east or west, depending on your budget. I volunteered for the sofa, hoping that the Finns would crash out early in the bedrooms and I could sit up and write. Taylor stayed up for a while and the two of us played Bullshit by torchlight with a deck of cards from the bedside table. At first it felt forced but after a few hands we got into it and had a couple of laughs.
    Taylor gathered the cards for one final hand. She started working away on her longwinded shuffling routine.
    â€˜How was it hooking up with a girl again after all this time?’ she asked.
    I hadn’t spoken to either of the Finns about making out with Molly, but somehow, as always, they seemed to know everything about me.
    â€˜It was weird, mostly,’ I replied.
    Taylor nodded. ‘It’s been almost two years. That makes sense,’ she replied.
    â€˜Actually a little while before that,’ I replied, for some fucking reason.
    â€˜Oh really? How come?’ she asked.
    â€˜I don’t know. Bad timing, maybe,’ I replied. ‘I guess Iwas kind of in a rut before