Free Raw by Scott Monk

property but someone would still find a way to escape. If guys want to stay, they will. If they don’t, like yourself, they won’t.’
    â€˜So what? You just let them leave?’
    â€˜No, I don’t do anything. If a boy wants to leave, it’s his decision not mine.’
    â€˜So what’s the catch?’
    â€˜He has to face the consequences of that decision. The fact that he’s an escaped prisoner. That the police will be after him. That he might not have any food to eat.’
    Brett’s stomach grizzled.
    â€˜That the rest of the inmates will be punished because of that one boy’s actions.’
    â€˜I don’t care.’
    â€˜You mightn’t, but forty other guys will. And then —’
    â€˜You’re all talk.’
    â€˜Maybe, but you see The Farm is all about trust —’
    â€˜Here we go.’
    â€˜Yes, here we go. The minute you were placed in my care, Brett, we had to trust each other. I trusted you to stay at The Farm and you trusted me to help you sort out your life. And you and the other inmateshave to trust each other to survive.’
    â€˜Well, that didn’t last long did it?’
    â€˜No, it didn’t.’
    â€˜And now what? I suppose you’re disappointed in me because I broke that trust!’ Brett sneered.
    Sam shrugged. ‘Yes, but that doesn’t matter any more. You said yourself you didn’t want any help.’
    He had that right anyway.
    â€˜So what do you think you can do for me? I haven’t got any problems.’
    â€˜On no?’ Sam said. ‘How about the one where you think the whole world’s against you?’
    Brett flinched.
    The ute was silent again. Sam was lying, of course. Brett didn’t have any problems. And he didn’t need any help. He looked after himself.
    He changed the subject quickly. ‘You’re serious about this aren’t you? You’re going to let me go.’
    â€˜If you want to go — yes.’
    â€˜Will you tell the cops I’ve done a runner?’
    â€˜By law, I have to.’
    â€˜What’ll happen if they catch me?’
    â€˜You’ll be arrested and appear before a magistrate again. They’ll convict you for escaping and lock you up for a couple of years.’
    â€˜You’re kidding, right?’
    â€˜Nope.’
    â€˜Then they won’t catch me,’ Brett said.
    â€˜Good luck.’
    Dark streets greeted them as they entered Mungindi. It was a quarter to one and the entire place was asleep. The ute was pretty low on petrol (maybe Sam planned it that way) so this was the final stop. Brett parked on a back street, behind the post office, grabbed his bag and closed the door behind him. Sam slid over into the driver’s seat but didn’t follow him outside. So he’d kept his word.
    â€˜You don’t think I should be doing this, do you?’ Brett asked.
    â€˜That’s not my decision. If you want to go, I can’t stop you. You’ll leave anyway.’
    Standing there, his bag over one shoulder, Brett looked at him a bit confused. It wasn’t what he thought he’d say. He expected an argument at least.
    â€˜You can always come back to The Farm, you know. I believe in giving people a second chance.’
    Brett looked away. ‘Yer, sure,’ he said.
    â€˜Well, goodbye,’ Sam said finally when they had nothing more to say. He dropped the handbrake and indicated. The ute did a U-turn and was about to leave when he called out from across the road, ‘Just remember, Brett: only you can change your life.’

Brett heard the rumbling of an approaching freighter, turned round and saw the orange lights ringing its cabin rise over the hill. He stepped onto the road proper to make sure the driver could see him and jerked out his thumb.
    UUUURRRRNNNNTTTT !
    The driver palmed his horn long and loud. The freighter continued straight at Brett until he realised it