“If there was a bush fire, this place would be entirely cut off,” Rich mused.
“It’s happened once or twice apparently. But given how often the rest of the country burns, this place has been pretty lucky.” George nodded ahead as he spoke. “Here we are.”
They came to a large area on the left with a car park, half full of cars, and a big shopping complex behind. The huge Woolworths supermarket took up one end of the complex, and Rich spotted a baker, a reject shop, and a couple of other things on the far side. But George turned into the loading bay before the car park, leading him to the back of the supermarket. There was a big turning space and he nosed the truck in, then backed slowly and expertly along the narrow cement apron to big double roller doors at the supermarket’s rear warehouse. A few young people in Woollies uniforms stood waiting on the raised dock, looking bored.
“Saw us coming,” George said. “Get this stuff inside and we’ll be out of here in under half an hour, we’re lucky.” He killed the engine and jumped down from the cab.
Rich joined him at the back and they opened up the trailer. The teenagers and one grizzled older man began walking manual hand-held pallet jacks back and forth, ferrying all manner of grocery store items from the truck into the big warehouse. George leaned against the wall off to one side, squinting up into the darkening sky. It was indigo out over the water, pale grey and pink to the west over the bushland.
“If this lot pull their collective finger out, we’ll be back towards the highway before the streetlights come on,” George said.
“What happens when the streetlights come on?”
George sneered. “This place is weird enough in daytime. I don’t wanna know what comes out at night.”
“It’s just a harbour town,” Rich said with a laugh. “Tourist town.”
“You see any tourists?”
Rich grinned. Next week George would be retired and this route would be his. He’d have to do his best to make good time and take the opportunity to stick around for an hour or two after the goods were delivered, have a proper look at the place.
At twenty-seven, Rich had started to feel like maybe he needed to broaden his horizons. He’d grown up in Sydney, but hadn’t been out of New South Wales except for one high school camping trip to Queensland. He became estranged from indifferent parents right around the time school finished and figured it was no great loss. He’d largely looked after himself since the start of high school anyway. University didn’t suit him, and after Grant died he decided to go somewhere else, forge his own way. The factory job didn’t last long, still too close to home, so heading south down the coast a few hours seemed like a good idea.
He’d done a few different things over the years, mostly drinking his weekly pay cheque from various blue-collar jobs. He was happy enough for a while. He found a job at meat packing plant and thought it would do for a time until he saw a divorced workmate of only forty-two keel over dead from a heart attack. It was like a flare going off in his mind, seeing himself heading for the cold cement just like that poor bastard. So he decided to shake things up, look to a further horizon. He moved another hour south, studied and passed for his HGV licence, and got the job with Woollies. Better pay than the meat plant and cheaper rent too. Save up enough over the next few years, he’d decided, then leave not only the state, but the entire Australian continent behind, see the world. In the meantime, keep painting. He loved to make his small artworks, weird landscapes in oils on miniature canvases. It calmed him. A workmate in his last job had said he should get an Etsy shop or something, try to make some money from it. Maybe he would.
“Stop daydreaming,” George said, punching Rich lightly on the arm. “Let’s get outta here.”
He slammed the trailer shut, dropped the locking bar in place, then went back around to the cab. They headed away from the loading dock, and George made a sound of disgust.
“This fucken dickhead!”
A large white panel van was parked right in the entrance to the loading bay, blocking half the road. The gap it left was enough for most vehicles to get around, but not a truck the size of theirs. George blasted the horn a couple of times, several pedestrians turning with startled expressions.
Rich leaned forward to peer at the van. “No one in it,” he said.
“Fuck me dead.”
George sat there a moment, knuckles white on the wheel. He blatted the horn again, this time drawing some shaken fists and choice curses from passers-by.
“He surely hasn’t just left it there.”
“Give it a minute,” Rich said. “He’ll probably come back.”
“Fuck this.” George revved up the truck and crept slowly forward.
“You won’t squeeze through there,” Rich said. His training and licence test were all still fresh. Widths and heights, load limits and speed limits, it was all branded on his forebrain.
“Watch me.”
“Nah, George, you’ll hit the van.”
“Fuck him, shouldn’ta parked there.”
“Don’t give yourself an insurance nightmare the week you retire, mate. You want a clean getaway don’t you? Just wait, he surely won’t be long.”
George grunted in annoyance and edged the truck a little to the right. “I’ll get through.”
Before Rich could say anything there was a bump and grinding crunch.
“Fuck it!” George snapped. The cab tilted a little to one side, then bumped back down. “Fucken kerb. I didn’t see that.”
They jumped out and saw the front right wheel had ground into the apex of a shallow cement curve, and the tyre was already half-flat.
“Ah, shit. I done a fucken rim!” George said.
Rich crouched for a better look. Sure enough, the wheel rim had bent up and out where it had pressed into the cement, the entire weight of the cab on top of it. Only a little, but enough for air to hiss from the gap it made.
“There’s no driving on that,” Rich said. “We’ll have to call out for a new wheel.”
“No shit, Richard! You think I was born yesterday?”
Rich frowned at the man’s vehemence, but George was already looking nervously at the sky, then down along the main street. He pulled out his phone and rang a number. At least there was reception here. Rich checked his phone and frowned. He had no service at all. George must be on a better provider.
“Nah, gotta be now. Can’t you send someone in from Monkton or Enden?” George’s voice was angry, but it was higher in pitch too. Scared? “Then what are we supposed to fucken do? Fuck! All right.”
He hung up and the eyes he turned to Rich were haunted. “No one coming until the morning.”
Rich’s eyebrows rose. “Overnight in The Gulp then?” It didn’t bother him, he had no one waiting for him. “Better ring your wife.”
“I’m gonna back it up before all the air is gone.” George got back into the cab and lined the truck up along the left side of the loading bay, as neatly tucked against the supermarket as he could make it, leaving the damaged front right wheel easily accessible. He didn’t get out of the cab.
Rich walked over, looked up as George wound down the window. “Where we gonna stay then? You know anywhere? Motel or something?”
George barked a laugh. “Right here.” He held up an empty plastic two litre Solo bottle. The man chugged the stuff all day long. “I’ll piss in this and sleep where I sit. I suggest you do the same.”