THE ROADS WERE quiet as he left the sleeping city. Manolis drove slowly, waiting until the engine oil warmed through. Buying the restored Chrysler Valiant had been a decision of the heart, not the head: it was the same make and model that Con once drove. The car was a connection to his past, to when Manolis was young and innocent, and petrol was leaded and affordable. The colour was almost identical too, gold-tan exterior, brown interior. It had real bumper bars, not crumple zones. It had locally sourced metal parts, not foreign-made plastic. No airbags. Emily hadn’t approved of the purchase, thought it was impractical and unsuitable for a new parent. But Manolis figured that was fair since he didn’t approve of her new partner, a tradesman with questionable ethics, who now put his son to bed every night.

The city limits fell behind, the road opened up ahead. Manolis felt the torque in his fingertips, humming, tiny sparks of electricity that trickled up his arms and neck to elicit the slightest smile. He planted his foot, was pressed back into his seat. This was his first chance to take the car for a good run beyond the central metropolis. The tight streets, traffic and constant stopping did his joy a complete disservice. Subjecting the Val to that was cruel, like running a thoroughbred racehorse through an equestrian event.

He stopped midmorning to refuel: eighty litres of premium unleaded for a hundred and twenty dollars, and a six-dollar cheese salad sandwich paid for with street-blackened coins. He choked on every tasteless morsel.

Back behind the wheel, he concentrated on the long empty road ahead. The Val’s eight cylinders pulled him along the outback road effortlessly, accelerating with ease. A hazard soon tested its brakes, the object appearing as a large round lump on the road, sitting square across the white lines. Manolis thought it was a rock or misshapen cardboard box, but as he drew closer he saw it moving, and far too leisurely for its own good. He swerved to avoid it with some urgency before pulling up with a short screech.

The hairy-nosed wombat was about a metre in length and smelt oily, a strong combination of musk and digested grass. It was also predictably heavy but stayed calm as Manolis carried it to the roadside and checked its fur for blood or injuries.

‘There you go, mate,’ he said. ‘Safely across.’

The stout creature let out a hearty grunt, which he took as appreciation. Manolis watched it claw the dirt with its dozer-like paws, then disappear into the scrub. He continued on his way.

As he drove further inland, he watched the signal bars on his phone disappear one by one. The trees, once lush, became empty hatstands, the earth drier and yellower before a sudden change to cattle-dog brown.