timber, black metal.
âGot some stuff for it yesterday down the coast. Cleaned it up this morning.â
âHave you ever used one before?â Ben asked.
Dad shrugged. âCanât be that hard. Your pop used it.â
âDid he ever show you how?â
âNo,â Dad whispered.
âWhy are we whispering?â Ben asked.
âRabbits,â Dad said. âYou seen any?â
Ben thought about the light gray rabbit he had seen the day before at the river. He shook his head. âNope.â
âI saw one just up there,â Dad said, pointing. âGray. Missed it. Ran off. Waiting for it to come out again.â
They sat, quietly waiting for rabbits. Ben hoped that the rabbit was way underground, settling in for a bunch of carrots and a long nap. He wondered where rabbits would find carrots around here. He looked at the gun, Dadâs grubby hands gripping it.
âWhy do people shoot rabbits?â he asked.
âEat âem,â Dad said. âTheyâre a pest.â
âOliveâs a pest and we donât eat her,â Ben said.
Dad looked out over the bumpy bark of the fallen tree in front of them, dirty blue cap with the gas company logo sitting limply on his head. He had creases and blackheads around the edges of his eyes. He looked more like a dog than a rat today, Ben thought. He wondered if dogs had hair growing out of their noses like Dad did. He couldnât remember ever seeing a dog with nasal hair.
Passports.
Ben wanted to ask why they needed them. He could say that heâd overheard his parents talking last night, but Dad would get angry. Ben did not want to anger a man with crowâs-feet, nose hair, and a gun. He would have to be smart. He squeezed his bottom lip. Interrogate, he thought. Get him talking.
âI love it here,â Ben said.
âReally?â
âYeah.â Ben was only partly lying. He liked being at the river by himself.
Dad raised his brows.
âDo you?â Ben asked.
Dad thought about it, adjusted his cap. âNo. I donât.â
âWhy not?â
âKeep your voice down,â Dad said, annoyed.
Ben asked again. âWhy not?â
âI just donât,â he said. âYour grandfather planted these trees thirty years ago. Thought a pine forest would make him rich. He thought a garlic farm would too. But he died poor.â
âIs that why you donât like it here? Because of Pop?â
âNo. I just like hot showers and cold beer.â
Ben saw his chance. âSo why donât we leave?â
Dad looked at him and then back to where he thought the rabbit was hiding.
âWe will,â he said.
âGo home?â Ben asked.
Long pause. âNot necessarily.â
âWhere then?â
âI donât know,â he said.
âA long way away?â
âToo many questions, Cop,â Dad said, a note of warning in his voice.
Ben stayed silent for a moment as the tension drained away, down the hill and into the river.
âI was just asking,â he said.
âWell, donât âjust ask.ââ
What would a detective do? He knew what he wanted Dad to tell himâwhere they were going next, why they needed passports. He just needed the questions that would unlock the answers.
Ben closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating. The curtains opened on the movie screen at the back of his eyelids. He imagined Ben Silver, Sydneyâs toughest cop, the hero from his movie, cross-examining Dario Savini, zombie thief. Ben Silver needed to get a confession of Saviniâs crime without being infected and turning into a zombie himself. Ben wasnât sure if zombies could speak, but in this part of his movie, they could. What would Ben Silver ask?
âHow did you get like this?â
âLike what?â Savini would say.
âLike this. Donât you want a normal lifeâkids in school, soccer on weekends, a regular