Fog drifted across the dead branches of the huge Camphor Laurel. Lit by a full moon, the branches clawed at the sky. A dingo cried in the distance, sending shivers down his spine. He curled up on the damp ground under the caravan into the smallest ball he could manage. It helped relieve the pressure on his bladder. An urgency that would have to wait until it could wait no more.

A squeal, a moan, a giggle. She was at it again. Entertaining another uncle. He concentrated on the squeaks of the caravan's suspension springs to drown out other sounds seeping through the floorboards.

Minutes passed. He couldn't wait any longer; the pain forced him into action. He rolled onto his back, stretched his legs, then unzipped his jeans as slowly as he could. The soft zzz sound hummed like a bee. The noise swarmed in his ears. When he got his fly undone, he lay for a moment taking steady, swallow breaths to calm himself. Silence was safe. Silence kept you hidden from the monsters under your bed.

He rolled onto his side, aimed, released, closed his eyes and drew in a long, silent breath of pleasure through his nose. At the sound of water spray, he froze. His stream was hitting the inside wheel hub. Shutting down the valve in his body, he lay listening. More squeaks and moans. The sound hadn't been heard. He shuffled and calculated his aim before emptying the last contents of his bladder.

The man with white blonde hair was back. Stern. Talking to the faceless woman. He bent low, looming large, eyes burning ice, voice slick with threat. "Keep... away..."

He jerked awake.

"Keep away, you fucking bastard!"

Her voice. A slap. A bang. The caravan rocked, dust filtered down on him like light rain. "Fucking arsehole. Don't you..."

"You'll do what I want bitch." A man's angry growl. "You owe me. I paid you."

"I owe you nothing. You got what you paid for."

Another crash, a muffled cry and heavy breaths."

"Don't try that again," she screeched. "I'll ring the police."

"Really?" A throaty chuckle. "Somehow, I don't think you will. Where's the kid?"

"I don't have a kid."

Another bang. "So, you play baseball, do you, and wear a size eight jersey?"

"He's... he's not here. He's at a friend's."

"Good," the man crooned. "There's no excuse for you to refuse me."

"I won't do that. I told you it's a no-go zone for me."

"You're not listening," the man snarled.

He heard a loud slap. Her scream. More crashing, the van rocked. He scrambled from where he hid, lifted his baseball bat from beside the caravan door, and yanked it open. It swung closed behind him, tap, tap, tap as it settled. She lay naked on her back,her ankles pinned to the bed. The kneeling man turned his head, let go of her and prepared to stand. "Ah... here he is." He laughed. "Double fun for me."

The boy raised the bat above his head and swung.

"What the fuck?" She jerked backwards as the man crumpled. "What the fuck have you done?" She looked at him in shock. "You've fucking killed him, you stupid little fucker!" She searched for her dress and fought to get it on.

He looked at the man slumped on the floor, then back at her.

A moan filled the silent void. She shot into action, stepped over the thin, wiry, tattooed man and grabbed his ankles. "Quick. Help me. If he comes to, he'll kill us both." She pulled, he helped. They dragged him to the door, pushed it open and continued pulling. The man's cheek smashed on the caravan step and then whumped on the ground.

If he hadn't died from the baseball bat blow, this would have finished the job. For some reason, the thought made him smile. He looked at her, then at the bat lying where he'd dropped it on the caravan floor.

"Get in there and pack your things," she ordered. "We're leaving."

It wasn't the first time they'd left a town in a hurry. He couldn't count how many times they had moved. She turned the man's pockets inside out, took every cent he had, then tossed the clothes she'd searched on top of the inert man. "Come on!" She jerked her head. "Your things. Grab them."

He was quicker than she was. He had fewer items to pack, clothes from second-hand shops, his bruised baseball, worn glove, faded jersey, bat and cap. She'd promised that they would stay in this town forever, that he could play, make friends and be a normal kid. He opened the back of the old, dented Prado, wiped the head of his bloody bat on the grass, and then tossed everything inside.

"Come and grab this shit," she called.

He struggled with her duffel bag, then went back for more, the crumpled cardboard box he was never allowed to look inside. He'd peeked once, saw stained manila folders, newspapers and bundles of cash. She'd caught him and thrashed the living daylights out of him. He'd never looked again.

She rushed to the car, keys in her mouth and bags of groceries that she'd bought the day before. "Here." She shoved the bags at him, then darted back to the van. The man groaned. As she stepped over him, she turned and kicked him in the head. "Prick." When she got to the car, she lifted the lid of the esky, filled it with cold goods and said, "We'll get ice at a servo. Did you grab the pillows?"

He shook his head.

"Go. Go and get them, idiot. And the fucking sheets and blankets."

Struggling with the bundle, he tripped over the man, tumbled and landed on his knees. The man grabbed his ankle.

She was there in seconds, kicking the man again and stomping on his wrist. "Quick. Get in the car."

He gathered the bedding, ran and clambered into the passenger side, shoved the pillows and blankets between the front seats to the back floor and slammed his door. She followed, started the car and hit the accelerator.

The tyres spat rocks out behind them, the car fishtailed through the gate and onto the bitumen. She slowed, sucked in a huge breath, laughed, looked over at him and squeezed his knee. "You really are a stupid little fucker sometimes, Boy, but I knew you were my boy the minute I laid eyes on you." She grinned and ran her finger along the scar on his cheek. "Do you love your Mummy?"

He didn't answer. He never answered.

"Yeah, you do." She pinched his cheek. "That's why you defended me. You can't live without me, and I can't live without you."

He studied her profile and wondered if this was true. Her face was swollen where the man had hit her. She did what she did to put food in their mouths, at least that's what she continued to tell him when she felt he didn't appreciate her. He didn't understand what she meant by that, because he did everything she told him to do, from stealing old ladies' handbags to expensive razors from the supermarket.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I promised we'd stay in that town, so you could go to school and play baseball, but how can we after what you just did?" She ran her hand down the back of his head. "Please don't be angry with mummy. You know I can't stand it when you sulk."

If he pulled away from her caress, she'd backhand him. Instead, he reached up and took hold of her hand, moved it to the centre console and threaded his fingers through hers.

"I love you, Boy." She squeezed his hand. "Being free and on the road is better than being cooped up in the same place, anyway."

He returned her hand squeeze but stared at the illuminated road ahead.

"Good boy." She put both hands on the steering wheel and said, "When you're ten, I promise we'll settle down."

The moon, high, kissed clouds as they drifted in the sky. An owl spread its wings, circled above a ghost gum, then dove, soared again with a mouse gripped in its claws. Boy could see the small creature fighting to be released. Pain etched in his chest. He pressed his hand to it, hung his head and stared down at the rubbish-strewn footwell.

WORD COUNT  - 1371