You stand on gravel the size of cricket balls. She accelerates off in a cloud of ochre. You watch the back of the silver Monaro as it fishtails along the road, if you can call it that. You’re sure she shouldn’t do more than fifty on this surface, but it looks like she’s pushing double that.
She finds an eagle on a highway verge—a wedge-tailed eagle. It lies with its eyes open next to a stinking kangaroo carcass. It has been struck by a vehicle; must have been recent as every other predator and scavenger, including its own kind, haven’t yet discovered it. Such is life in the outback—cannibalism is an accepted form of survival.