Mike Dixon

He‟d seen enough. The crocodile farm was not economi-
cally viable and Daryl was a lazy slob who was letting the
place fall into ruin. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and
headed back the way he‟d come. Reaching the corner of the
farmhouse, he came across the wheel marks of a vehicle.
They stood out prominently in the red soil and led to an expensive
looking Volvo truck. Forty or more drums of diesel
and an even larger quantity of aviation fuel were stacked
nearby. A satellite dish was located a short distance away
and a cable led from it to Daryl‟s window.
avid went to bed early that evening and woke to the
D sound of possums in the roof. They‟d disturbed him
during the night and he‟d slept with a pillow over his ears. He
guessed that Noelene and Daryl had lived for so long in the
tumbledown building that they scarcely noticed their furry
lodgers.
He eyed the trapdoor in the ceiling. If he could get up into
the roof space, he might be able to find another trapdoor and
gain access to Daryl‟s office. That was his primary goal. Daryl
was able to communicate with the outside world. The sat-
ellite dish was rusty and old fashioned but it evidently
worked.
The door opened downwards and probably had a build-up
of possum droppings on the upper side. David put a mat un-
derneath and stood on a chair. A hard tap knocked back the
bolt and the door fell open. A cloud of dust emerged. To his
relief, most landed on the mat. He waited for it to settle,
rolled up the mat and shook it over the veranda. Moments
later he was back on the chair pulling himself up into the
roof.
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