Free Two Wolves by Tristan Bancks Page B

surrender and lowered the camera. Dad shook his head. He motioned silently, impatiently, for Ben to come up the hill. Ben wanted to cover his raft but he was afraid of bringing attention to it, so he left it lying there on the ground between the tree line and the creek. Ben tucked in beside Dad at the fallen tree. It was crawling with green ants.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ Dad whispered.
    â€˜Just . . . hangin’ around,’ Ben said.
    â€˜What time’d you get up?’
    â€˜Early.’
    â€˜Well, you’re lucky you’re still alive, scaring me like that.’
    Ben stared at the rifle in Dad’s hands. He couldn’t help it.
    â€˜Did you fix it?’ Ben whispered. The weapon was made of dark-brown timber, black metal.
    â€˜Got some stuff for it yesterday down the coast. Cleaned it up this morning.’
    â€˜Have you ever used one before?’ Ben asked.
    Dad shrugged. ‘Can’t be that hard. Your Pop used it.’
    â€˜Did he ever show you how?’
    â€˜No,’ Dad whispered.
    â€˜Why are we whispering?’ Ben asked.
    â€˜Rabbits,’ Dad said. ‘You seen any?’
    Ben thought about the light-grey rabbit he had seen the day before at the creek. He shook his head. ‘Nup.’
    â€˜I saw one just up there,’ Dad said, pointing. ‘Grey. Missed it. Ran off. Waiting for it to come out again.’
    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, Dad’s grubby hands gripping it.
    â€˜Why do people shoot rabbits?’ he asked.
    â€˜Eat ’em,’ Dad said. ‘They’re a pest.’
    â€˜Olive’s a pest and we don’t eat her,’ Ben said.
    Dad looked out over the bumpy bark of the fallen tree in front of them, dirty blue cap with scratchy petrol company logo sitting limply on his head. Ben wondered if his father slept in that cap. 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 couldn’t remember ever seeing a dog with nasal hair.
    Passports.
    Ben wanted to ask why they needed them. He could say that he’d overheard his parents talking last night but Dad would get angry. Ben did not want to anger a man with crow’s-feet, nose hair and a gun. He would have to be smart. He squeezed his bottom lip. Interrogate , he thought. Get him talking.
    â€˜I love it here,’ Ben said.
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Ben was only partly lying. He liked being at the creek by himself.
    Dad raised his brows.
    â€˜Do you?’ Ben asked.
    Dad thought about it, adjusted his cap. ‘No. I don’t.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜Keep your voice down,’ Dad said, annoyed.
    Ben asked again. ‘Why not?’
    â€˜I just don’t,’ he said. ‘Your 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€˜Is that why you don’t like it here. Because of Pop?’
    â€˜No. I just like hot showers and cold beer.’
    Ben saw his chance. ‘So why don’t we leave?’
    Dad looked at him and then back to where he thought the rabbit was hiding.
    â€˜We will,’ he said.
    â€˜Go home?’ Ben asked.
    Long pause. ‘Not necessarily.’
    â€˜Where then?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ he said.
    â€˜A long way away?’
    â€˜Too many questions, Cop,’ 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 creek.
    â€˜I was just asking,’ he said.
    â€˜Well, don’t “just ask”.’
    What would a detective do? He knew what he