More of My AFTRS application.

A2Z

‘Absolutely has to be there, 10 am. On the dot’ said Dad.

‘But the Torana’s got a stuffed radiator!’

‘Come here!’ Toby got up out of the armchair and walked over to stand at the head of the kitchen table where Dad sat.

‘Douglas here has a very special package.’

‘Either you help him deliver it, or you spend the night in the wash room. Toby's forehead creased and his lips pulled back slightly, showing a few wet yellow teeth.

‘Fuck no’ he whispered.

‘Get going!’ Dad stared Toby in the eyes the whole time they were talking. His gaze was still locked on Toby as he led me out the back.

‘Help fill up some bottles jerk.’ Toby didn't look at me as water dribbled out of the tap into three battered old plastic juice bottles.

I helped him carry them back to the car, and we threw them behind the front seats.

"Jerk, fucking jerk" he whispered under his breath as we pulled out onto the street, I wasn't sure whether he meant me or Dad, and I decided to keep quite.

‘KEEP LEVEL’ was stencilled in red across the top of the package that I cradled in my lap, and my fingers fiddled with the tight little knot that held it all together.

Lampposts slid past the car marking our progress.

‘Maybe it would be quicker if we avoided Block Street?’

‘Now there's an idea. And an even better one is that I pull over, beat you dead, then drive to Queensland and disappear.’ His eyes never left the road.

Old cracked bitumen jolted the car, and the old Holden’s suspension struggled to keep four wheels in contact with the road.

Petrol was leaking somewhere and the fumes made the air in cabin thick.

‘Quickly, quickly, quick!’

Rush hour had choked the streets and we sat in the middle of Block Street, engine disconnected from the rear wheels turning over under a rattling bonnet.

Sunshine cooked the monoxide soaked morning air.

Toby looked at his watch and grinned ‘hay look! It’s five past ten, we're going to be a bit late!

Under the brown paper of the parcel I could feel a movement, a small shiver, a slight scratch through the paper against my lap, and then nothing.

Vans, cars, and trucks crawled forward, only bikes swinging through the traffic made reasonable headway.

‘What's wrong with you?’ Toby was looking at me,

‘Xenopsylla infestation’ I whispered.

‘You wouldn’t understand.’ I gently stroked the sides of the package.

Zoologists would though.