Judah was grinning at him, like some horrible clown in the moonlight, his big teeth yellowed and his eyes wide. ‘Bit of fun, hey?’

Up front, Brendan steered towards the flickering in the distance. As they grew closer they could make out the flames between the trees, and then two figures around the fire, their ghostly images hard to see for the warping heat and scrub.

Brendan said, ‘Should we slow down?’

Judah nodded. ‘Head around this other side where they won’t hear us. Gun down the motor.’

Brendan did as he was told. They slowed to a crawl, barely any ripples floating by them. Sidney let his arm dangle over the side, almost willed a shark to take his fingers. Come on, you bastards. Swim to the surface and take my whole damn arm.

They drifted, Brendan steering. They waited until the couple left the fire. Must’ve gone inside their tent. Judah’s feet were tapping. He lit a cigarette.

‘Put that out,’ Sidney said. He almost reached for it.

‘Why?’ Judah asked, mouth around the filter.

‘They’ll bloody see.’

Then he did reach for it. He swiped it from Judah’s grinning mug and threw it in the water. Judah’s grin fell, his chin followed, and he smacked his lips. ‘You do that again, you’re in the water.’

‘Good.’

‘With a hole in your chest.’

They decided to use the oars, Sidney and Brendan rowing, and soon passed by a smaller vessel, closer to the island. It looked as though nobody was in it and it was still some distance from shore. Drifting, though, untethered. A phantom boat.

Judah said, ‘Put the boat in over there,’ pointing at the shore.

‘Should we check this floater out?’ Brendan asked, nodding in its direction. ‘Might be Moore’s.’

‘Who cares? We saw where they were. Don’t need their boat.’

Sidney watched the boat as they glided by it. He saw what looked like a man’s leg in there, up on the bench inside. The other two were keenly watching the shore now. Sidney decided not to mention it.

At the shoreline the water slapped against the hull. Brendan was first over the side, dragging the boat up onto the sand. Judah lumbered out with the shotguns and Sidney followed. Brendan made his way through the bush. The trees were huge and banded together like braided rope. The smell of salty mud. Sidney could feel it sticking to his shoes. He was sweating. The air was still.

Before him now this dreadful prospect. Judah had a shotgun and so did his brother a few paces ahead. They intended to shoot this old man who had sat beside him in the car as the kangaroo had struck him and, although it was not the old man’s fault, he had still nursed him to the car, delivered him to his father. His father now mostly bandages in hospital.

He saw his daughter in all her smallness in her crib, just a newborn, suckling at a dummy, content in her beanie, her mittens, her socks. There with her kangaroo. His wife nearby asleep. What world was it they lived in where a man like Judah had the power to do whatever he pleased?