Jasmine kept watching. After a while, her breathing slowed down. ‘Just a tree,’ she said. She chuckled and tapped out the remaining weed. ‘Gotta be careful with this stuff, it’ll make you paranoid.’

Cierra laughed too, and they both stood up. She gave Jasmine a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re my best friend, Jaz. Thank you for doing this.’

They walked back to the tents, shoulder to shoulder.

A branch cracked behind them.

‘Just a wallaby?’ said Cierra, even more high-pitched than normal.

The two of them walked faster, faster again, until they were running.

CHAPTER 3

MURPHY

It was well after nightfall when there was a knock on the door. Butch, rubbing the crick from his neck, went to answer it.

Murphy pushed himself away from the table and gently nudged Gus the Muss off his lap so he could stand, a headache sitting at the base of his skull. He stretched his back. The day had been long.

‘G’day, lads,’ drawled Skinner. He wore servo sunglasses, had long stringy hair, and tribal tattoos up both his wiry arms. He hugged Butch first, then Murphy. Murphy automatically turned to the side to avoid Skinner’s bad breath – drugs had ruined his digestion. ‘I brought a little gift tonight, to thank you for all your hard work.’

Butch’s eyes lit up. ‘What have you got?’

Skinner slipped a white spray bottle out of his pocket. ‘Angel dust, my angels. And the best shit of its kind I’ve ever tried. Who wants fries with that?’

‘I might sit this one out, mate,’ said Murphy, eyeing the bottle. A fry was the street term for a joint sprayed with angel dust. Murphy had tried a fry only once, and it had been a very bad experience. Besides, he avoided hard drugs like angel dust whenever possible. He was a father, after all.

‘Don’t be chicken shit, you’re trying it,’ said Skinner.

‘Murphy is in, or I’ll call the school and tell them Jasmine brought something a little extra to camp,’ said Butch.

‘She didn’t bring anything,’ said Murphy quickly.

‘Murphy is in,’ said Butch.

‘Good man,’ said Skinner. He tugged Murphy’s beard as he walked towards the back door.

Their shed was decked out with plush couches, a loud sound-system, a fully stocked beer fridge, and a rusty wood stove.

Murphy sat smoking the fry he had reluctantly lit, watching the flames in the stove. Gus the Muss was on his lap again, purring. Skinner and Butch were debating something about politics – Skinner always got political when he was high.