The Mount Amos Road was corrugated dirt. Cody drove towards the shack. He turned right and took a track that cut through rainforest and scrub. It was rutted and rough; a deterrent to any sightseer who might decide it was worth a look.

Cody stopped a kilometre in to open the barbwire fence. He lifted the thick wire loop, which held it in place, wiggled the timber post from the base anchor, and then walked the fence forward to lay it on the brown grass verge, before heading back to the truck.

He thought about the bar. Snakes was named after its owner. He hadn't said and Cody hadn't asked but, he assumed Snakes was Snake's. It was quiet, the kind of place he liked. If you wanted to talk, you could. If you didn't, you didn't.

He drove the truck through the opening, stopped, climbed out and closed the fence in reverse.

The girl had stayed in his mind. He couldn't understand how she accepted her father hitting her, and not make a sound. Cody wondered what her life must be like. Raped at fifteen meant she'd have some serious issues. Being in a small bush town meant there wouldn't have been much help available; maybe a nurse, and a doctor, but no psychologist. Snake said the father and the Gallos' hadn't reported either incident. That wouldn't have helped the girl, even if support had been accessible.

He continued along the road thinking about her and the people in the bar. He'd go there again because nobody showed interest in anyone else, which suited him.

The truck tilted as Cody drove through the gully. When it rained hard enough the terrain would become a creek. He hit the accelerator and powered up the incline to the crest. The wheels spun rocks and gravel until the tyres gripped and then rolled along the track to the house.

The shack was made of rough-cut timber. A large golden Labrador climbed from an old lounge chair on the verandah. Cody rubbed him behind the ears. "Hey, Max. How are ya, boy?"  

The verandah ran across the front of the building, which consisted of two main rooms, a bathroom, toilet, laundry and, a storeroom. The kitchen and dining room were combined. Cody unpacked his supplies from the back of the truck and headed inside. He put the box on the table, threw his keys beside it, lit the oil lamp and took off his boots. A bottle of unopened Zoloft caught his eye. Cody chuckled, lifted it, studied the label, and then looked at Max. "Whatcha think, mate? Should I toss them?"

Max cocked his head and kinked his ears. Cody laughed and threw the bottle onto the buffet. He grabbed the lamp, walked around the end of the table to the adjoining lounge bedroom, stripped off, and then flopped on the bed with his hands behind his head in thought.

The barman had asked him for a surname so he'd need to come up with one before next time. He glanced at the bookcase against the wall; tomorrow he'd go through one of the novels and see if he could find a name that appealed.

Max curled on the rug at the foot of the one armchair in the room. Cody blew out the light and closed his eyes. The girl came back to mind. He hadn't seen her face but her treatment triggered his soldier genes.

It'd been a while since thoughts of any woman had been in his head. Maybe the next time he was in town he'd seek some female company. He tried to remember the last woman he'd been with, but couldn't see a face.

He rolled onto his side and thought about his plans for the house instead.  

Who doesn't love a Labrador?

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