Riddle Gully Runaway by Jen Banyard

said!’
    â€˜You never asked,’ said Pollo.
    â€˜So we’re stuck here in this dump of a place?’
    â€˜If you were being a miserable pessimist, you might say that,’ said Pollo. ‘On the other hand, an optimist might say we’ve enhanced our opportunities of finding Benson. We could do another sweep of Princeville later. We might still find him.’
    Will snorted and shoved the rest of his bread and cheese into his mouth. He pulled his phone from his backpack and began scrolling through phone numbers with his thumb, his cheeks bulging. Shorn Connery, standing at the door, bleated mournfully into the wind.
    â€˜Take another example,’ continued Pollo cheerily. ‘If you were a miserable pessimist, you might say there was no point going back to the abattoir tonight to rescue Ear because we’d never pull it off. On the other hand, an optimist might say —’
    Will spun his head to look at Pollo. ‘What? There’s no way, Pollo! You can’t be serious! I’m calling Angela right now!’ With a flourish, he pressed the call button on his phone. He held the phone to his ear, glaring defiantly at Pollo. Outside, beyond the cubby walls, the ocean growled and the empty swing creaked.
    Pollo cut more cheese while Will waited for his mum to pick up. After a minute, he put it down and mumbled, ‘She’s got it switched off.’
    â€˜That’s because she thinks you’re safe in Canberra,’ said Pollo. ‘What’s the bet she and HB are planning a lovey-dovey night in your absence? You don’t want to go near that, do you?’
    Will hastily shoved the phone into his backpack like it had suddenly sprouted fangs.
    â€˜So what do you want to do?’ said Pollo. ‘Sit here all night and freeze to death, or come back with me to the abattoir and spring Ear?’
    â€˜There’s other stuff I can do,’ said Will sullenly. He tapped his backpack. ‘I’ve brought my paints, remember. I’ll finish one of my art assignments.’
    â€˜In the dark? Okay, then. Good luck with that.’
    Will grunted. He took the packet of Ginger Nuts. It felt lighter than he’d hoped. He held it up to the dimglow of the streetlight filtering into the cubby. Nearly empty. ‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘I guess we can give it a go.’
    Pollo slapped Will on the knee. ‘That’s the spirit! What’s the worst that can happen?’
    Will opened his mouth, but Pollo interrupted. ‘On second thoughts, don’t answer that.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    Under the cover of night, Benson shouldered through the door of the shed out back of the Royal Arms pub, his ears stinging with cold. It was too early yet for the drinkers in the front bar to be rowdy, for the jukebox to be cranking up — late enough, though, for the concrete floor to have lost what warmth it had scavenged from the day. He had a few precious hours to himself now at least. He was done with skulking on the edges of town, counting down the daylight.
    He scanned the floor with his torch. Despite what the Duke had said about Tony’s missus knowing about him, everything seemed to be where he’d left it — the hessian sacks he’d laid on the floor, his book, his backpack amongst the old paint cans. He flicked mouse droppings, fresh since leaving for the abattoirthat morning, from the sacks, balanced his torch on his backpack and sat down.
    He peeled back the lid of a tin of stew and shook its contents into his mouth, scraping out the last with his finger. Who had those voices in the playground cubbyhouse belonged to, he wondered. Delinquents-in-training sneaking something they’d nicked from a liquor cabinet? Maybe it was a couple of homeless kids. One morning last year, early, he’d gone fishing with his dad and seen two kids sleeping rough, rolled in a blanket on the dirt under a bridge. It hadn’t looked like fun. If whoever