The drop to the street was dizzying, and the warm smoky-salt smell of Hobart in the summer hit him hard after the antiseptic scent of his room. He curled his fingers around the side of the fire escape and clung on with all his strength, climbing around to the other side until he could hop down onto the landing.

His impact on the metal made a clang that froze him in place. Voices stirred from inside a nearby window. He scurried down the stairs and onto the street.

He pulled his hoodie over his head, shoes slapping against the footpath.

Free.

And no one was coming to save him. He was in this alone.

He could still walk away from it all. He could go anywhere, do what he wanted. There were no nurses checking in on him, no police, no Frankie trying to pry secrets from his head. No one for him to disappoint.

In fact, no one even looked at him. Strangers passed without a second glance. People ate inside restaurants, living whole lives that had nothing to do with Forest. Cars drove by and didn’t stop. No one out here cared what he did or didn’t say, what he did or didn’t do. It was tempting, there was no denying it. But there was something he had to do.

He jogged all the way to St David’s Park. Scabs on his legs cracked open, but he didn’t care.

He made his way to the oak tree, the sight of it etched in his memory. He climbed, the rough bark tugging at the bandages on his fingers, until he reached the hollow: the bum bag was exactly where he’d left it.

He let out a massive sigh of relief. He’d half expected it to be gone.

He checked inside – it still had all the cash he’d saved up, plus a detailed map of Shacktown and surrounds.

As he made his way down to Salamanca, his mind flicked through everything he’d learned about the Dempseys. He mentally rehearsed every trick he’d need to get through to each of them.

When he got to the square, he hailed a taxi. He’d stashed away more than enough cash to pay the fare all the way to Shacktown.

CHAPTER 16

MACKEREL

Night had fallen and heavy rain pounded on the roof of Safe Harbour, echoing everyone’s emotions. Some of the family were still there, but most had long gone. Davey’s memorial would be held in a week, when they promised to return.

Mackerel sat alone on the deck, just under the awning, watching the rain pooling on the timber slats, reflecting the houselights. Curfew was closing in – he’d need to head back to Big Mane’s soon.