The Grass Castle Read Online Free Page B

think I can watch. Do you mind if I go?’
    She watches bleakly as he climbs into his car and rolls down the window. For the first time tonight, she feels lonely. But perhaps it’s better this way; he won’t have to see her crying.
    He peers out at her. ‘What if I hit another one?’ he asks.
    ‘You won’t,’ she says, but he isn’t reassured. ‘Okay then,’ she suggests. ‘Drive a few hundred metres down the road and wait for me.’ Not only does she have to kill the kangaroo, she also has to guide him home. It’s almost more than she can manage.
    He starts his car, the engine throbbing throatily, and snaps on the lights. The kangaroo claws at the tarmac, trying to drag itself away.
    ‘Turn your lights off,’ Abby yells, but he doesn’t hear. He’s backing away, taking care to dodge her work vehicle. She watches him disappear down the road and is relieved he has gone.
    Shaking with apprehension, she clambers into the four-wheel drive and lines it up near the kangaroo’s head. Several times she has to pull on the brake and check the positioning with her torch, and by the time she has it right, the kangaroo is blowing bubbles of blood from its nostrils and she is already weeping. Behind the steering wheel, she clenches her teeth and prepares to finish it. The vehicle judders as she revs forward, then she jerks on the brake. Hesitantly she climbs out to look.
    The The animal is dead. Its body is twisted, the head mashed, but mercifully the breathing has stopped and all is dreadfully still. Abby is taken by a horrible adrenalin sweat and she thinks she might be sick. Weakly she leans against the car. She can’t give in to it: there is more to be done.
    She shifts the vehicle away then approaches the poor dead body to check inside the pouch, slipping her hand inside the warm moist fold of skin. She hadn’t expected to find anything so she’s surprised to discover a small young wriggling there. Her gut clenches as she directs her torch into the pouch—is she going to have to dispatch a joey as well?
    Peering into the musky shadows of the pouch, she sees that the joey is covered by a fine layer of grey fur and that it has whiskers and its eyes are open, its mouth firmly wrapped around a long, pink teat. The reality of her next step overwhelms her. She will have to kill it. A quick blow to the head will suffice.
    Sobs threaten, but she locks them inside. Grasping the kangaroo by the forelegs she drags it off the road, the crushed head dangling. She can’t bring herself to touch the hind legs, doesn’t want to feel the grinding sensation of bone against bone. The skull bumps against her knee, the warmth of fresh blood. Fighting tears, she pulls the limp heavy body into the bush.
    When the kangaroo is concealed behind some shrubs, she lifts the head and gently straightens it. The skull is shattered, an eye protruding. She wishes she hadn’t seen it, thinks she might vomit, bile rising in her throat, an involuntary choking sensation. The eyes are glassy, staring into emptiness. This animal, still warm, was alive only five minutes ago. Now it has departed, its body a shell; such a fine line between life and death. Abby knows about that.
    She works to compose herself, listening to her own breathing as it rasps into the night. The kangaroo’s legs remain skewed, and there’s something not dignified or respectful about leaving them that way. Despite her reticence to touch the broken bones, she forces herself to bend and gingerly, tenderly, untwist one leg then the other. Then she squats to stroke the kangaroo’s shoulder before turning away. The stickiness of blood is on her hands, the smell of death in her lungs, the taste of it in her mouth.
    At the back of the four-wheel drive she rummages agitatedly for a drink bottle and flushes water over her trembling hands. It seems she will never be clean. Then finally the gush of tears comes and she sobs against the back of the car.
    When the first wave of reaction