"Yewse guys, I cannot believe we'll be in Melbs tomorrow night!" Nev was so excited, she could barely stand still as we packed up and prepared to leave the pink lake. She danced from foot to foot and tugged Simon's sleeve like a much younger girl. "We're nearly there!"

Simon smiled placidly at her. "It was nice here. If it weren't for you lot, I reckon I would have stayed here forever."

"Boring." Nev rolled her eyes. She threw a long leg over her bike. "At my place, there's real food – my nonna has a wood fire stove in the backyard, and my dad has a shed full of smoked meat. We'll feast and talk and drink and it will be awesome!"

She cast a shy glance at Bailey. "I think yewse will all love my fam."

Bailey gave a small smile, and I saw the doubt and concern in their cool eyes. "Looking forward to it."

"Bye pretty lake!" yelled Mischa, her little voice carrying across the salt flat. "Nevvie! Race you to the gates!"

"You're on!"

The two girls pedalled off. Bailey fiddled with their socks, and I approached them quietly. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Did you and Nev talk about what happens when we get to Melbourne?"

"Not yet."

"Bailey, we'll be there tomorrow. And from the look of Nev, I think she thinks you're going to stay with her."

"Maybe I am."

That stopped me. My grip loosened on my backpack, and the straps slid through my fingers as the bag dropped into the dirt. "What?"

Bailey picked up my bag and handed it to me. "We should get on the road."

"Bailey, are you serious? You'd stay in Melbourne for Nev?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Do you want me to make a list?" Hotly, I counted on my fingers. "What happens if her family reject you or treat you badly? What happens if you break up? Where will you live? What if living together so soon is a bad idea?"

"Karla..."

"What if you change your mind and we're long gone and you have no way to get to Tasmania? What if-"

"Karla, she said she loves me." The quiet power in Bailey's statement stopped my arguments. "And I love her. If I don't take a chance on this, I'll regret it forever."

They rode away towards the gates, and I watched them forlornly. What about me? I wanted to cry. Nev and Bailey's love was new and shiny, but Bailey and I had been friends for years. How could Bailey leave me without a backward glance?

Rueben emerged from the bathrooms. "Everyone ready?"

"Just need to load up Chookie," said Simon. "I was letting her stretch her legs one more time."

Rueben and I shared a quick glance, the kind filled with context that only two people who have seen each other recently naked can have. He grinned. "Okay, I'll meet you up by the gates."

"Come on, old man," I said, calling to Simon who was loading Chookie into the carrier like a precious glass goblet.

He straightened up and stared out over the lake again. "This was good."

"Yeah, it was."

We cycled together up the road, following the ridge to the gates, chased by a lazy breeze.

That stage of the ride wasn't memorable; the road past the Shepparton turn-off that led to Melbourne was flat, straight and boring. It made for easy biking, but it was boring as batshit. Large gums flanked the road, casting cool shadows on the smooth bitumen, and ahead of us the road stretched as far as we could see, shimmering in the sun.

In our version of this new normal, we stopped and snacked every few hours, complaining about chafe and the flies and the heat. Nev and Simon bantered, Bella barked, Mischa giggled, Rueben and I kissed when no one was looking, Bailey threw around sass. My little clan, content in the knowledge that the first part of our journey was almost done.

Night seemed to come early, the sun hiding behind the tall trees. Simon said, "Just a bit further. There's a rest stop with a drop bog about two kms further up the road. Not much, but it'll do us for the last night."

"Drop bog?" asked Mischa.

"Dunny with no bottom," said Bailey. "Everything goes down into a vat of chemicals. Don't fall in."

We set up camp at the little rest area, making a fire next to a cluster of picnic tables. Someone started singing American Pie, and Simon produced a guitar he'd repurposed from the lake campsite. Bailey and I got into an argument about the lyrics to a Josh Pyke song we both loved, unable to agree if the final line was, I don't pay enough attention to the good things when I got them, or if the words were I don't pay enough attention to the good times when I got them.

Then Mischa wanted to hear Castle on the Hill, and despite a mutual disdain from the adults for all things Ed Sheeran, Simon helped Nev played the simple chords as the rest of us sang along loudly. As we belted out the final chorus, we laughed in the firelight, content and hopeful.

"Hello?"

A female voice hailed us from the darkness, and we all immediately bolted upright. Mischa scurried behind Rueben as the rest of us took up defensive positions. I reached for my backpack, and my fingers closed over the item that wasn't the flare gun.

"Who's there?" Bailey called out in a strong voice.

"Hi, sorry, just us." Two figures stepped from the night into the circle of light cast by the fire. "I'm Alyson, and this is my son, Lachie."

She was short and slight, so slender I could see her collarbones casting shadows on her chest. A pang of envy shot through me at the fact that she was so much skinnier than me despite being clearly older than me by two decades.

Her son was about the same age as Nev; he was wiry and twitchy and had a smile that wore a little too wide on his deeply pitted face. "G'day."

Something licked up my spine, a cold flame of distrust. The dentist's words floated back to me, about not trusting people on the road, and inside my bag, my fingers tightened.

Simon nodded at the newcomers. "G'day. What can we do for you?"

Alyson laughed. "We're just so glad to find other people! We're from a little town just up the road, and we're trying to get to Shepparton. We ran out of food and water yesterday, and we haven't covered as much ground as we'd hoped. We haven't seen anyone in two days, and we need somewhere to stay tonight."

A ripple ran through our clan, and there were a few beats of silence as we silently assessed what to do. Send them away, I begged silently. I don't like them.

Simon spoke again. "We have space by the fire for anyone who comes in peace."

A laugh erupted from Alyson again, high pitched and grating. "We're not aliens! We're just a mum and a son, doing our best to survive." She noticed Mischa. "Is that your daughter? She's so bloody cute!"

Nev said, "That's Mischa. I'm Nev."

"Well, hi there, Nev," said Lachie, tilting his chin in her direction, his eyes narrow and flirtatious.

Bailey put an arm around Nev's shoulder. "I'm Bailey. That's Simon, Karla and Rueben."

Lachie observed Nev and Bailey, then smiled too widely. "Good to meet you."

"Can we sit?" asked Alyson. "We're bloody well exhausted."

Another beat, then Simon said, "Yeah, alright."

The mother and son edged up to the fire, and we made room for them on the picnic table seating. Everyone sat in silence for a few minutes, then Alyson said brightly, "So, what are we drinking?"

"Nothing," said Rueben. Simon had quietly emptied a bottle of fifty year old Glenfiddich that he had boasted was worth about a thousand dollars for each year it had waited to be drunk, but the rest of us had only sipped water.

"We've got some homebrew," said Alyson, pulling two bottles of dark liquid from her bag. "Can we trade for some water? I'm such a dill – brought the beer, forgot to pack enough of the clear stuff that keeps you alive!"

I spoke for the first time. "You can have some water, but we don't need your grog."

"I'm an honest woman," said Alyson. "We're living in the trade economy again! It's only fair."

She waved the beer in front of Bailey's face, and they reluctantly accepted. "Thanks."

Everyone took a deep swig from the bottle, but while I lifted the neck to my lips, I didn't drink. My bad vibes radar was still pinging, and I wanted to be sober.

Simon wiped his lips. "That's good stuff. How long have you been brewing?"

He and Alyson started a conversation about hops and fermentation. Lachie edged closer to Nev. "So, what's your deal? Were you a model before all this shit went down?"

Nev preened. "Kind of. I was a pretty big deal on Insta."

"Cool. I had nearly 50 thousand followers."

"Wow, that's pretty good. I mean, not as good as me, but not bad."

"How many did you have?"

"Over one hundred k."

"Holy shit!"

Nev giggled. "Anyway, what was your angle?"

They began to chat, and Bailey seethed beside Nev, drinking from the homebrew bottle in agitated sips. Rueben put Mish to bed, and when he came back, Alyson handed him a fresh bottle, saying, "You deserve an extra drink, daddy bear. I know what it's like to raise an ankle-biter as a single parent. Double the work, all the responsibility."

"Thanks." Rueben smiled in his easy way and gratefully accepted the drink. "It's a tough gig."

The night eased back into a relaxed state; everyone drank and chatted. Alyson told us how they'd been scavenging from empty homes in their small town until the water ran out, while Lachie told tales of his former life as a state karate champ. Someone brought out our last bag of Twisties, and we passed them around as the outsiders helped themselves to some leftover rice and beans.

And the entire time, my feeling that something was wrong never left me. I watched both mother and son carefully, analysing what kind of people they were. Country Victorians, slightly simple people who hadn't finished high school and spoke about topics like immigration with veiled contempt. "Look, don't get me wrong, but I'm just saying that if this whole thing means less freeloaders coming into our country and taking up our resources, that's gotta be a good thing, right?"

"You realise we were all immigrants once?" I said, calling Alyson out on her outdated views. "I mean, unless you are literally Aboriginal, your family came from somewhere else too, the same way as everyone trying to move here for a new life."

Her eyes narrowed, and I caught a flash of contempt. "Yeah, but my ancestors spoke English. There's a big difference."

I nodded, as if she actually had a point rather than being a bigoted idiot, and pretended to drink again, just to give myself something to do.

The fire burned low, and Rueben yawned. "I'm turning in."

"Me too," said Nev. She stood and hugged Simon hard.

"What was that for?" he said gruffly.

"I wanted a hug. I love you, you dumb old bugger."

A smile spread under his beard. "I love you too, Neveah." He kissed the top of her head, then said, "I'll call it a night too."

Lachie sprang to his feet. "Nev, any chance we can share a tent tonight? You wouldn't want me to sleep on the dirt, would you?"

Bailey interjected smoothly. "Nev can bunk in with me. You and your mum can share my tent."

"Okay, cool."

Bailey stood, then staggered a few feet. "Woah. That's strong stuff you've brewed there."

"Not for the faint-hearted," grinned Alyson, her gaunt face looking skeletal in the low light. "Come on, Lachie, let's get some sleep, ay?"

Everyone pottered off in different directions, yawning widely. I lingered by the fire, waiting until Lachie and Alyson had zipped themselves into their tent before I tidied up and made sure that all of our important supplies were safely tucked away inside our tents.

Despite the intrusion of the new comers, I still hoped that Rueben might sneak in with me for a while – or at least fifteen minutes. Maybe that's why I slept so lightly, and why the whispering roused me a few hours later.

After so many nights with my clan, I knew the timbre of everyone's voices; Simon was a rumble, Rueben was smooth and deep, staccato was Bailey while Nev was high. The whispers outside my tent were none of these. They were the voices of the strangers, approaching my tent.

Acting on instinct, I dragged my backpack into my sleeping bag with me and then pulled the covers up to hide my face and affected sleep.

The zipper of my tent sounded like an animal growl in the night, and a voice whispered, "Fuck, Mum – zip it louder, why don't you?"

"She's got enough Ketamine in her to knock out a horse, literally," whispered Alyson. All trace of warmth was gone from her voice, and inside my sleeping bag, I struggled to keep from shivering as I heard her enter my tent. "Right, got the first aid kit from here. Can't see her backpack though..."

"Forget it. We've got a fucking huge haul here – Jonesy will trade us enough gear for a month for this lot."

My frightened brain was fluttering inside my skull like a trapped and terrified bird, but I didn't believe that 'gear' meant equipment. We've fallen in with drug addicts. It was weird to think, but just because the world had ended, it didn't mean that people's addictions had too. Simon was proof of that.

I heard Alyson leave my tent, and their voices faded slightly as they walked over to the far side of the camp where the bikes were parked. For a moment, I considered jumping up and confronting them, but with the rest of the team potentially knocked out on laced homebrew, it was a safer choice to just let them go. We could make it to Melbourne with two of us on foot; it might take an extra day, but that was still a better option if it meant everyone was safe.

I slithered from my sleeping bag and crept to the dangling flap of the tent. Alyson was tossing more of our gear into Simon's bike trailer, then she straightened up, saying, "Right, let's go."

"Actually, you go ahead."

"Why?"

The moonlight was strong, and it was bright enough for me to see Lachie's face draw into another one of his weird, too-big smiles. "I've got one more tent to check in on..."

"The bogan chick?"

"Well, it's not the fat one."

They both laughed, malicious magpies who'd invaded our camp looking for shiny things. Alyson said, "Well, a boy has needs. I'm going to get a head start. You're a faster rider than me anyway. Do what you need to do, then meet me in Shep, okay?"

They hugged, as casual as if they'd been discussing a Bunnings run for sausages, not the drugging and theft of strangers who'd taken them in and trusted them. My brain was still fluttering, but as Alyson rode away, and Lachie walked toward Nev's tent loosening his belt, I finally realised what was about to happen.

No. Not Nev. Adrenaline pumped like battery acid through my veins as I dug frantically in my backpack for the other weapon in my arsenal: a fifteen inch hunting knife with a serrated blade. I had no idea how to actually use it, but if it meant keeping Nev safe, I would do what I had to.

On swift bare feet, I crossed the camp. Lachie's head was inside Nev's tent, and suddenly a volley of hysterical yaps rang out. Bella. I saw him kick savagely in the tent, saying, "Piss off, you little wanker." A whimper, then silence again.

He bent, pulling Nev's sleeping bag along with Nev's sleeping form out of the tent flap. I guess he doesn't want to sexually assault her while her lover lies comatose next to them. How considerate. Keeping low, I crept up, holding the knife the same way I'd seen done in a thousand Hollywood movies.

Crack. A stick broke beneath my foot, and the sound it made echoed like a gunshot. Lachie spun on his heels, then launched a kick in my direction before I had the chance to strike.

Thunk. His foot connected solidly with my throat, and I immediately collapsed to the ground, unable to draw a breath. Do it! I didn't have oxygen, but I could still move. I lifted the knife and plunged it as far into his inner thigh as I could.

It jarred to a halt after only a few inches as if it had hit concrete, and Lachie bellowed in pain. "You fat bitch!" He staggered back, clutching at his thigh. "What the fuck?"

"Get... Away... From... Her..." I managed the words between gasps, my throat as sore as if I'd swallowed a bucket of bindies.

"Fuck you," he snarled. He touched the blade in his leg and hissed, pain blotching his face. "You fucking stabbed me! I was just going to have a bit of fun, and you had to fuck it all up. Now, I've gotta kill you before I can do what I was going to do anyway."

He pulled a hand gun from the pocket of his low hanging jeans. "I told Mum, this is a fucking stupid idea. We should just rob people at gunpoint, just like the bushrangers used to do. But nooo, she reckons it's genius to roofie people, then grab their gear. And I said okay, and yeah, it's worked a few times, and yeah, it gives me a chance to get a no-complaints root here and there, but I fucking told her something like this would happen."

As he levelled the gun at my head, I scampered back, holding my hands up in defence. "Please. Don't kill me."

He started to answer, then yelped in pain and clutched at his leg, the gun falling to the dirt. I threw myself forward and scrabbled for it, but Lachie kneed me in the sternum, and I dropped to the side, grabbing for his shirt and trying to pull him with me.

"Get off me, you fat mole!"

"Oi!"

We both twisted to see Simon barrelling towards us, my knight in trackpants. With surprising accuracy, he tossed an empty whiskey bottle at Lachie's head. Lachie ducked, giving Simon enough time to snatch up the gun.

Lachie leapt for Simon, grappling with him. "Give me the gun, you old alco!"

"No." They struggled, locked together as if they were cuddling.

Things happened quickly then, and only when I played them back later in my mind could I pull apart the order of events. Lachie ducked, pulling the knife from his thigh. He thrust it upwards. The gun fired. I screamed. The struggling stopped. I ran forwards.

"Please... Please don't be shot," I moaned at Simon.

"I'm not, love." He released Lachie, who sank to the ground, a bullet hole in the middle of his chest. It didn't look as big and dramatic as gunshot wounds in the movies; it was a small round hole, with spreading blood that stained the fabric of his tee. As he gurgled once, then fell silent, his face bore a look of surprise, as if he couldn't believe this was how it had all ended.

Simon spoke again. "I think there's a bit of a problem, though."

I could do problems. Problems were my thing. Confident I could solve anything now the threat had passed, I turned to Simon – and froze.

Extending from Simon's ribs was my knife, embedded up to the handle in the flesh of his chest.