I put the boxes in a large bag, and then I pack small one for myself. Where am I going? That’s a question as good as any other. A motel somewhere. A caravan park. And then I hit upon the perfect strategy. I won’t go anywhere. I’ll camp here, above the house, and see who comes and goes. Ian is the perfect cover. He’ll tell anyone who asks that I’m away, and I’ll be able to piece together who owns the cash. I pull a large esky out of the pantry, and fill it with whatever food is left and the ice bricks that remain. There is a tent, a one-man tent, I remember, and I search until I find it in the laundry — a little mouldy, but in one piece. Then I load the ute, and take the track behind my house across the oats paddock (with no oats in it) up into the low hill that looks over the farm.

It is midafternoon as I set up my camp. I don’t want to be seen from the house or the main road, but I need to be able to see out. I pitch my tent on a flat area back from the edge of a steep decline. The light from my fire should be shielded from the lower country, and the smoke blown away before it becomes eye-catching. I lie on my stomach in the leaves and sticks, and look at my house through binoculars. I wonder how long it will be before they come. The roof looks even worse from up here. The red paint is peeling or faded, and the sagging roofline suggests the battens are warped or rotted. Thank goodness my mother can’t see it. Thanks goodness I’m the only one who sees it from this vantage. But if I cared that much, I’d do something about it, wouldn’t I? And I’m not going to do anything about it.

To the south of the house, a wedge-tailed eagle hangs in the sky, then circles slowly on an updraft. He is twice as large as anything else in the air. He holds his loop, and I know he has noticed something he wants. I’ve never seen a wedge-tailed eagle take a live lamb, but I know they’re keen for the freshly dead. Two ravens that patrol this part of the property as their territory join him for a moment and then drop to the ground, and begin cawing and strutting. Through the binoculars, I see they have a dead rabbit, probably killed by Mixo or one of the other more recent viruses.