“There’s so much space here,” I said, stroking my hand over the back of Brynn’s head. She’d fallen asleep not long after the confrontation at the rest stop, her only movements now the occasional grizzle.
“I used to think there was too much,” Theo said. “This is the first time I’m seeing it as a plus.”
Paddocks showed the first signs of green as autumn slipped into winter. Eucalyptus trees swayed in the breeze, and a redtractor sat smack in the middle of a field on the right, as if the farmer had abandoned his machinery mid-crisis.
No infected were roaming, but I’d never fool myself into thinking it would last.
“How far now?” I asked.
Theo flicked the indicator. “This is it.” He turned onto Bolton Street, then straightened and picked up speed again.
My stomach dipped. Out of nowhere, it suddenly seemed too soon to be meeting his family. “Now I reallyamnervous,” I said. “What if they don’t like—wait.” I stared at him. “The street has your last name.”
He threw me a smile, the tightness in his features softening. “Our family’s been in the area for three generations.”
“That’s… a long time.”
Something inside me eased, and I pictured the weeks and months ahead. We could set up here permanently. Give Brynn somewhere safe to live. She’d never remember the tragedy of her parents’ death or the hours she’d spent trapped in the van.
Theo grabbed my hand briefly and squeezed. “This is where it starts,” he said, nodding to the left.
I smiled uncertainly, wondering if he meant literally or figuratively. Either way, it was true.
I followed his line of sight and found heavy pine posts securing an endless stretch of mesh fencing about two metres tall. Contained on the inside were rows and rows of olive trees—there had to be thousands. I had a feeling I could walk around all day counting without reaching the end.
“It’s huge. Your dad looks after this all by himself?”
“He’s had a steady stream of backpackers and farmhands over the years, and high school kids used to work in the cafe on weekends.” Theo pointed at the outer rows as he drove. “Some of it’s gone to shit now without the farmhands around. That’ll be killing him.”
The branches were barren looking, the ground beneath the trees equally parched. I’d never had much of an interest in plants, trees, or gardening, but examining his dad’s crop helped take my mind off our impending arrival.
Theo lifted his foot off the accelerator. “We’re here.”
Bolton Olive Estate, est. 1995.The sign was stencilled steel, artfully rusted. A stone wall on either side of the entrance flanked a security gate with sharpened tips on each rod to keep climbers out. I truly hadn’t known olives needed guarding until today, and now the fences would protect us from the outside world, too.
Theo’s fingers flexed on the wheel as he pulled into the gravel driveway.
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “Whatever happens next, whatever’s waiting here, we’ll get through it together.” I rested my hand on his thigh as I cradled the back of Brynn’s head.
The entrance and the surrounds were still being maintained. No weeds or broken fencing. It could have been pre-Ultimus for all the impact the virus had had here.
Theo eased to a stop beside a keypad fixed to a metal pole. The security system appeared to be powered by a bank of solar panels inside the fencing, so I could only assume it still worked.
He punched in a series of numbers, and a whir filled the silence.
Seeing the gates move sent a jolt through me, and I held my breath as they slid back all the way, inviting us inside.
Here I was trying to calm Theo when I could barely contain my own nerves.
He waited a second and took off again, cruising down the driveway at walking pace as tension built inside the car.
Then I heard it.
A distant dog barking. High-pitched, excited.
Theo made a strangled sound. “Norm.”
“Your dad?”
