The Devil Of Oz Read online

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  Leaving the child’s building-block-silhouette of the city behind her, she pushed her foot down, and watched smiling as the needle on the speedometer crept up over 100kmh. Feeling only slightly naughty she allowed her car – a second-hand BMW, coloured angel-wings-white – to sit comfortably on 120.

  The bimmer was delicious to drive and Annabelle leaned back into the plush leather seat releasing a sigh of pleasure. Without taking her eyes off the road she leant forward and switched on some music. As the silky sounds of the crooning singer filled the interior, she glanced out through the side window. For the last three hours the scenery had remained unchanged; dry dusty paddocks dotted with grazing sheep and the occasional mobs of roaming kangaroos. Spying a small rest area just up ahead Annabelle flicked her indicator and pulled in scanning around as she did.

  There was no need to be picky where she parked. The place was deserted; it reminded her a little of vision she’d seen of the lunar landscape. On her far right a drum hung crookedly from broken metal struts, a bit like a loose tooth. Flaking, faded paint exposed the red of the cancerous rust which was slowly eating it.

  Around the edges of the car park -- where the tall grasses met the gravel – discarded paper, cans, bottles and food wrappers collected like flotsam and jetsam washed up on the tidemark after a storm.

  Switching the ignition off she rolled to a smooth stop beneath the broad, shady green-canopy of a eucalypt and unbuckling her seat-belt she reached down and flipped the boot-release catch.

  Yawning widely, she slipped her heels on and glancing in through the bars of Percival’s cage she checked he was still sleeping. He was curled up, his tail wrapped around his body, out like a light.

  “Thank god for medication,” she murmured as she grabbed her bag and slid out. Placing it on the roof she raised her arms and closing her eyes she leaned from side to side, feeling the stretch and the softening of her muscles as the kinks and stiffness dissolved.

  Feeling more comfortable now after uncurling herself, she leaned on the car, and looked over to the only building standing in this desolate place; a toilet. Squinting against the glare, she tipped her head to the side and studied it.

  She wasn’t an architect, but to her eyes it was basically a simple, butt-ugly box on stilts. It squatted like a giant cane toad over a large cement tank, and to the side, a crumbly cement ramp led up to where she assumed the door was.

  She tsked. “If it’s even got a door, which I doubt.”

  The dusty sheets of corrugate which formed the walls and roof, leaned sideways like a potted metallic flower chasing the sun. She assumed that a lack of maintenance and the effects of the debilitating heat had undermined the heart of the wooden skeleton lurking beneath the iron armor.

  “I think I’ll just hang on. No way in Hell that I’m going in there. It’s probably got snakes curled up on the floor and redbacks on the seat,” she said with a quiver as her nose crinkled in disgust. Walking up to the rear of the car she leaned in, soon forgetting about the less than desirable restroom facilities as she ferreted around amongst the bags and assorted junk.

  “Mmm, yes,” she mouthed as she found the items she was after.

  Smiling she pulled out a folding chair and her treasured and ancient green-tartan-print thermos. She’d had it forever – since high school actually -- it had never leaked, or given her cause to replace it, so she never had.

  She cradled it like a newborn. “Come to mumma. God, I’m gagging for a hot coffee and a smoke,” she whispered to the silent bush. She giggled. “Why am I whispering? There’s no one else here but me.”

  Grabbing her handbag she plonked herself down on the hastily propped up chair. Pouring a coffee she held it between her knees and groped in her bag for her fags and lighter.

  Lighting it she closed her eyes in pleasure and exhaled a long blue stream.

  “Ah, shit that’s better.”

  “You know Annabelle my dear that smoking will kill you?” came a sultry male voice from the rear of the car.

  Dropping the cup and half smoked cigarette she flew up, knocking the chair over backwards. Facing the newcomer she screamed and then froze as the air gushed from her lungs in a long wheeze.

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