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‘You either tell me,' Sam threatened, ‘or I'll call the authorities. And you know what that means, don't you? You'll spend the rest of your three months in a real juvenile detention centre. Got it?'

Grinning, Brett spat, ‘See if I care.'

Safe, Brett slid out the door, closed the flyscreen behind him and took a minute to pull on his boots. His fingers knotted themselves in the dark, but he steadied his nerves and soon he was standing again. He slung his bag over his shoulder, scouted the property then pressed the light on his watch. 12.03.

It was time.

Moving off the gravel and onto the grass, he dashed from The Boys' House past the homestead. Stolen tins of canned food clunked together in his backpack and he was sure with all the noise that he was a goner. He crouched down where he stopped. He looked at the homestead but no one stirred. The lights were off and everyone was asleep. He was okay.

Half-rising, he continued towards the dirt track, but slower this time. He stopped at the entrance.
Like a few hours ago there was still no gate, no barbed wire, no alarms and no beams to zap him dead if he did pass through. Just empty space. He could easily walk through it like an open doorway. Brett waved his hand through the middle one last time to make sure there was nothing there. But he only sliced air. Shaking his head, he confidently strolled through it. His foot landed on the other side and for a second — and only a second — Brett felt real fear. But the feeling quickly disappeared. He broke into a jog and got out of there.

He'd nearly given up his plans. He'd decided once everyone was asleep he'd then just slip out. But Frog had been an unexpected pest. It seemed the kid needed an hour or two just to settle down before falling asleep. Just after ten o'clock Robbie hopped into bed then right out again to make sure the door was closed. It was. When he got back he rummaged round looking for his cricket bat, only to remember he'd stashed it in a friend's room. At eleven o'clock, he trundled down the corridor to see who was still awake. (Nobody, except one kid who Frog woke up and wasn't too happy about having a twelve-year-old croak in his ear all night.) Then, once back in bed, Frog bugged Brett with twenty questions about where he came from and what he
liked before Brett told him to shut up and go to sleep.

There had been another problem too. Just as he'd reached for the door handle, he'd heard whispering in the hall. One guy had said, ‘Make sure he doesn't leave or we'll all cop it'. Brett didn't understand what that meant and didn't hang round to ask questions. He jumped out his window then re-entered through the common room to raid the kitchen.

Past the entrance, Brett kept to the dirt track that connected with the main road. He would've cut across the paddocks but it was too dark to go exploring blindly and he didn't know the land at all.

The trek was brisk. The mild night made the journey easier. It was another reason why he was leaving now. The forty degree heat would've melted his will come seven o'clock the next morning.

The dirt track spilled onto the back road and Brett headed east towards Mungindi. The town was a good twenty kilometres away. From there, he planned on hitching a ride along the way if one approached. The area was well-serviced by cattle, sheep, wheat and cotton farmers and there had to be a truck or car heading south towards the bigger towns and their slaughterhouses.

Brett still hadn't figured out where he wanted to go
— another town or back home to Sydney. There were more opportunities for work in the cities and virtually none in towns. (The drought had dried up more than just the ground.) The problem with living in a city was rent. It was expensive, and with seventeen bucks ninety, the only thing he could afford to stay in was a five-star clothing bin. With towns, however, a bed during summer wasn't a problem. He could camp in a field or on a hill and leave only when he needed to scab some food. The rent was dirt cheap (literally) and he'd slept in Sydney parks before. What would the difference be? He doubted he could go back home to Mount Druitt ever again.

He thought about it for a while but decided to leave it to fate. The first driver who offered him a lift would decide where he'd go.

Bored again, Brett pulled out his cigarette pack but put it away. There were only four left. The fight had left him more tense then he'd thought. He had to save these last four until he could scam some more. He couldn't live without his smokes. So he had a drink instead. He pulled out a plastic two litre milk bottle filled with tap water and sipped from it. It was just cool enough to wet his throat but it still had a funny milky kind of taste. He wasn't complaining though. It was the best thing he could do consider
ing he couldn't find any real water bottles or canteens when he'd raided the kitchen. Supplies for runaways weren't high on The Farm's essentials list. Washing out the two milk bottles had been a last resort. He wasn't going to leave empty-handed, especially if he had to survive the new day's heatwave.

Brett finished twisting the lid back on, when, as if by fate, the headlights of a car rounded a bend in the road and caught him. He moved to the side, walked backwards and stuck his thumb out. The ute indicated and stopped twenty metres in front. With a short victory whoop, Brett gripped his bag close to his shoulder and ran towards the car, his great big smile — falling to the ground along with the rest of his plans.

‘Hello, Brett,' a familiar voice said.

Brett nearly crumpled. It couldn't be! He'd made it this far. He looked at the driver again just to make sure it wasn't a mirage.

‘Go away! I'm not going back!'

He started to run.

The ute rolled up beside him, keeping pace. Sam reached over and opened the passenger door. ‘Hop in,' he said.

‘Leave me alone. I'm not going back and you can't make me.'

‘Where are you headed then?' Sam asked. ‘Mungindi?'

‘No,' Brett said, stopping. He looked across a cotton field then moved towards it. He could always double-back later.

‘Brett, get in,' Sam said, pulling on the handbrake.

‘Never. I'm not going back, Sam.'

‘Okay. I heard you the first time. Tell me where you're off to and I'll take you there.'

Brett hesitated. ‘What did you say?'

‘I'll take you wherever you want to go.'

‘Yer, right.'

‘I will.'

‘I don't believe you.'

‘Then you drive the ute.'

‘What?' He was even more suspicious.

‘Here's the keys. The ute's yours.'

The keys skidded to a stop at Brett's feet. He looked at the ground then at the man. He wasn't kidding.

‘But how are you going to get back to The Farm? Or are you trying to set me up for car theft, huh? That's it, right? You —'

Sam sighed under his moustache. ‘I'm not giving you the ute to keep or setting you up. I'll ride along to where you want to go.'

‘Then what?'

‘You get out and I drive back home.'

Cautiously, Brett bent down to scoop up the keys. ‘This is a trick, isn't it? You think you can —'

‘No tricks. The ute's yours to drive.'

‘You're not going to knock me on the head when I'm not looking and kidnap me are you?'

‘Like I said, Brett, no tricks. You have my word.'

Sam shifted over into the passenger's seat waiting for Brett to get in. Brett didn't trust him but he did need the ride. He looked at him. Even if he did turn on him, he was fifty. Brett'd take him out easily and ditch him and his ute before he ever woke up.

Opening the door, he sat down in the driver's seat. He glanced at Sam who nodded towards the ignition. ‘You do know how to drive a car, don't you?'

‘Yer.'

‘Well good. Then start her up.'

Brett reached forward but Sam's voice stopped him. ‘One rule though,' he said. Brett rolled his eyes. He knew there'd be a catch. ‘Keep to the speed limit. I don't want any cops pulling us over.'

A little stunned, Brett nodded.

One eye on the road and one on Sam, Brett buckled up and turned the key. He took his foot off the clutch and
RRRUUUMBLE
! The cab violently
threw them about, forcing him to kill the engine! Sitting in the darkness, Brett turned to Sam and offered a smile. The old man sank in his seat. After two more tries, the ute slowly pulled away from the roadside. Brett grinned as he kicked it into second, third then fourth gear; still a kid at heart when it came to driving. Sam wasn't watching, however. He was more interested in the night sky and letting the wind blast his grey-brown hair.

Ten minutes into the ride, Brett started to relax. He could see the lights of Mungindi in the distance and Sam hadn't yanked the steering wheel round and forced him back to The Farm.

‘C'mon,' he urged the stockman. ‘Why are you
doing
this?'

‘Not before you tell me why you're running away.'

‘I asked you first.'

‘And I've been doing all the talking between us. Now it's your turn.'

Brett looked in the rear view mirror at the blazing lights of a freighter ready to overtake him. Sam waited for an answer and Brett only gave him one because Sam was letting him drive. ‘I just am,' he shrugged.

‘Why?'

‘Because I hate it there, all right?'

‘How can you hate it? You haven't even been there for twelve hours.'

‘Nobody likes me. I don't want to go to class. And there are too many rules.'

‘Nobody likes you yet because you haven't given them a chance to know you. It takes time, you know. Besides, you haven't been very friendly yourself.'

‘Yes I have.'

‘Like you were tonight when I caught you and Josh fighting?'

Brett's cheeks burned and he checked the side mirror. ‘Nothing happened.'

‘So you said.'

The two sat in silence for a few moments before Brett asked, ‘How did you know where to find me?'

‘Mary and I go through this with every new boy. Most guys try it at least once. Mungindi's the nearest town and most kids go there. After all that's happened today, I knew you wouldn't stay the night.'

‘Why should I? I don't want to live there.'

‘Who does? It's a correctional facility.'

‘Exactly.'

‘But the fact is you were put there for a reason. You have to stay.'

‘Nothing's stopping me from leaving.'

‘Except yourself.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I could put ten metre high fences with razor wire all around the 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.'

‘So what? You just let them leave?'

‘No, I don't do anything. If a boy wants to leave, it's
his
decision not mine.'

‘So what's the catch?'

‘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.

‘That the rest of the inmates will be punished because of that one boy's actions.'

‘I don't care.'

‘You mightn't, but forty other guys will. And then —'

‘You're all talk.'

‘Maybe, but you see The Farm is all about trust —'

‘Here we go.'

‘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 inmates
have to trust each other to survive.'

‘Well, that didn't last long did it?'

‘No, it didn't.'

‘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.

‘So what do you think you can do for me? I haven't got any problems.'

‘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.'

‘If you want to go — yes.'

‘Will you tell the cops I've done a runner?'

‘By law, I have to.'

‘What'll happen if they catch me?'

‘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.'

‘You're kidding, right?'

‘Nope.'

‘Then they won't catch me,' Brett said.

‘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.

‘You don't think I should be doing this, do you?' Brett asked.

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.'