The Drive Home

5: Split Lips

"So, Isla used to be a mountain bike tour guide, and there used to be this bike track that went straight along the base of the ranges. All the way, apparently. And she said that this spot here is where she asked out her future husband. They've been married for ages now or something, they're so cute."

"Aw." A stick thwacks me in the neck.

Muphrid is a few paces ahead, crunching through the bush in these proper-ass hiking boots and a brimmed hat. The straps on his camelback swing back and forth as we navigate through the bush, ducking under branches and curling around circles of spinifex. I imagine it looks ridiculous with me waddling behind in my thongs and the tank top I've been wearing for days. We couldn't be more different if we tried.

A line of web lands directly across my mouth and splutter as I tear it off. "Literally how am I still walking through webs? You're a giant. Why aren't you getting them all?"

Muphrid scoffs, hopping over the trunk of a fallen tree. I nearly have to straddle it to get over, if that paints a picture of how obnoxiously limber he is. "Please, I'm getting so many. Surely you wanna go in front for a bit."

"I think surely not."

We started off this morning following a wallaby track, but quickly lost it and resorted to bushbashing. Luckily, we're trapped between the ranges and the road, otherwise we'd be hideously lost at the rate that we twist and zig zag around.

"Oh, looks like I need to stop and get a prickle out my sock. You go ahead." The sneaky bastard crouches down to the side.

"Piss off," I laugh. My lip stings like I might've split it, but when I touch it my thumb comes away clean. I take the lead, find a fallen stick and use it to bat the space in front of me as I walk.

We continue like that for two hours, throwing banter back and forth. By the time we get close to the ranges my throat is dryer than the bush. I watch Muphrid suck from his stupid little sippy straw and for the first time wish I had one of those ridiculous camelbacks. Wouldn't even care if I looked like a dweeb; I'd kill for a drink. We'd left quite a bit into the morning, waited until the other campers had moved on and we had the place to ourselves, so now the sun is beating down on us and it has an appetite for our flesh.

Muphrid's secret little hidey-hole better be a waterhole or else I'm gonna riot. And after my riot, I will promptly die of dehydration.

"Right." Muphrid stops besides me, observing the red cliffs in front of us with his hands on his hips. "What do you reckon?"

"Huh?"

"Which way?"

I blink at the side of his head. "Dude. I don't even know what we're looking for."

He turns and observes me for a moment, chewing his lip like he's tossing up whether or not he can trust me with the information, as if he's not leading me straight to it. "A cave."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." I gotta stay calm, collected, but my heart feels like it's vibrating. A cave. An actual cave.

Muphrid starts off suddenly again, and he's found his own stick to wave through the air. We stick to the ranges, stopping every so often to look around. The remains of the night's chill beat off the rock, and it's a relief to my sweat soaked back.

Muphrid tells me more stories about the old people where he works, but I don't really listen. I'm trodding along, humming along occasionally to whatever he's talking about, when I happen to look to my side and see a lean-to slate of rock that looks like it could be cave-like, and when I crouch underneath I immediately call out: "Is this is? I think I've got it."