"So, do you like him or not?" asked Nev with complete tactlessness the next day.

"Nev!" I hissed. "Keep your voice down!"

"Why?" She glanced around. "There's no one here."

She had a point. We'd been on the road for a few hours – a road that blessedly sloped down the entire way – but the rest of the group had powered ahead. Nev had hung back with me, although I wasn't sure why. I was slow because I was fearfully conserving energy, but she was fit enough to outpace us all.

"I... I don't know," I said, reluctant to say too much. I'd known Nev for two years, had hired her straight out of high school as a social media prodigy and encouraged her to start her to start her certificate in digital media studies, but she'd never been my confidant. Bailey fielded my secrets, but Nev and I weren't friends in the same way.

I'd tried not to think about why. Part of it was our age difference, but that didn't seem to matter between me and Simon. Part of it was that Nev could be childish and vague. But in my raw moments, I could admit to myself that it was probably a fundamental difference of ilk: she was beautiful, I was not.

I didn't want to be the petty person affected by that kind of stuff, but realistically, I'd always connected with people about the same level of attractiveness as me – about a five or a six out of ten, maybe a seven if they were really lovely. Nev was a nine, a different species.

We didn't even speak the same language. Nev was Pilates and cross-fit and paleo and leggings and Sephora and Zara and skinny-pops. I was Harry Potter marathons and toffee ice cream and camembert and budgets and couch time and pyjamas and novels. A good weekend for Nev consisted of wearing shiny tight things and dancing with strangers. A good weekend for me was finishing a book at 3am on a Saturday night, safe in the knowledge I could sleep in on Sunday. Zero commonality.

Not to say I didn't like Nev, because I did. She was fiercely intelligent about her passions (Insta, her dog, tanning lotion) and she was an optimist and a hard worker. I decided to trust her with a piece of my heart, saying, "I'm not sure how I feel about Rueben. I barely know the guy."

"So?"

"So," I said exasperated, "I've only known him a few days and I'm not sure if now is the best time to start something."

"Why not?"

Sometimes, Nev's incessant curiosity was valuable. Today, it was annoying. "Because! What if I say something, and he doesn't feel that way, and I make this entire trip so awkward, he doesn't even want to take us to Tassie anymore? Besides, I kind of tried to start something the other night and he shot me down."

"The other night when you were drunk?" Nev examined a nail as she cruised along beside me. "Girl, I would have turned you down too. You were a hot mess."

"Thanks." I paused. "There's also someone else, a guy waiting for me in Tasmania. My ex."

"Oo, mysterious exes are my favourite! So, why not have Rueben on the road, and eat your cake too when we get to the farm?"

"I'm not that person, Nev."

"Things change."

"Not that much."

"Yes, that much! Look, all I'm saying is that everything is changing – we don't have to be who we were before this. We can be whoever we want, try new things. Look at me!"

She threw her arms out wide like eagle wings. Her loose hair streamed behind her like a banner, her toned legs brown and long. "This is the longest I've ever been without makeup since I was twelve," she confessed, giggling and grabbing the handlebars again, "and I couldn't be happier. Although I'd love a shower."

"Yeah, that's the other thing..." I sniffed myself and made a face. "I'm ripe. I don't want to smell me, let alone expose someone else to this stench."

"We all smell. No biggie."

"No biggie? From the girl that used to panic if she didn't douse herself in KKW fragrance every hour."

"I told you, I'm a changed woman." Nev's face grew uncharacteristically serious. "I've always been in a pretty crowd. Like at school, my friends were the hottest girls – we were nice, we weren't mean girls – but we were super-hot, and if you skipped a day of perfectly applied false lashes or ate too many m&m's at a sleepover, someone would say something."

"I thought being pretty came naturally," I said.

"Being pretty is a product," Nev corrected me. "A marketable skill. I have such a huge following online because people expect to see me looking a certain way. Even when school finished, I still had these beautiful people around me, and next thing you know, I can't even sleep next to someone, just in case they wake up before me and see me with my lipliner smudged and my panda eyes smeared everywhere. The hell you cop if you don't look exactly like your Tinder pic – someone will throw you out of bed saying that you've 'tricked' them, like having period bloat makes you a liar."

"That's why I don't use Tinder. Way easier to get really drunk and go home with someone desperate and just as drunk as you."

Nev rolled her eyes churlishly. "So I guess you shouldn't have an issue then with jumping in Rueben's tent?"

"Yeah, right in next to his eight-year-old daughter – sew sex-ay."

Her mouth formed a confused moue. "Why don't you like Mish? She's a cool kid, she reminds me of my nieces."

"I don't have nieces," I said, avoiding the question as we pushed our way up a slight incline. The trees had fallen away now, from the thick mountain bush to dry, rolling farm fields. A few sheep wandered around and cows clustered beneath tin shelters, but we didn't see any people. Ahead lay the freeway, dotted with stationary cars, snaking its way south.

"You didn't answer the question – why don't you like kids?"

"I do like kids." My voice hitched, and I cleared my throat hastily. "Nev, please let this go. I'm not going to force myself on a guy I'm not even sure likes me."

"Why not? It's easy. Tonight, you just walk right up to him, look him in the eyes and say, 'Rueben, I like you. Do you like me?' and if he says yes, then say, 'great – wanna sleep in my tent tonight?' And you're sorted!"

My blood ran icy at the thought. "Oh my god, Neve, no."

She grinned, her perfectly straight teeth flashing in the sun. "I'll just go ask him then." She stood up on her pedals and powered away cackling.

"What? You're not serious, are you? Nev!" I raced after her, and together we sped down the onramp and onto the freeway, the road that would lead us all the way to Melbourne.

We stopped for lunch at a church just off the road, a beautiful Catholic shine in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by lush green grounds. A light rain fell as we ate under a rotunda, chewing beef jerky while Mischa ran around with Bella in the damp grass.

I watched the little girl play, my chest tightening and my fists curling. She was open and happy and not a burden. I loathed her. I loathed myself. My nails dug into the soft flesh of my palms and release flowed through me at the painful bite of my skin breaking. "Let's keep moving," I yelled suddenly. "We want to make Goulburn by dark."

Back on the road, the bad feelings faded, helped by the constant ache in my legs and the agony of the bike seat between my butt cheeks. The ride became a solitary event, with everyone pedalling in single file in silence.

We're tired. Even Mischa was flagging, falling behind the adults for the first time since we'd started riding. Our convoy slowed to accommodate her, and I started to stress that we wouldn't make the next town by dark.

Bailey rode up to join me, the two of us leading the pack. "Hey, I've been thinking... Since we saw that stuff go down yesterday, I don't know how safe it is for us to ride straight into towns we don't know."

"I've been worrying about that too," I admitted, the visual of the cops crumpling under fire never far from my subconscious.

"I checked the maps when we stopped – there's a servo and caravan park just a bit further past Goulburn. They should still have water because the town runs on a reservoir that doesn't need electricity, and it might be safer than going into town. What do you think?"

"As long as we can get off the road by sunset. We'll need to hurry."

"I don't think Mischa can go any faster."

"Then they can catch up." I hardened my heart and pushed ahead, feeling Rueben and his daughter drop away behind us.

A few hours later, just as the sun dropped low against the flat horizon and cast everything in golden light, we pulled into the Big Merino – literally a giant concrete sheep the size of a four-storey building, the Aussie wool industry's equivalent of the Statue of Liberty. Except way more stupid.

Nev, Simon, Bailey and I circled the car park and stared up at the massive merino. "Oo, can we climb it?" asked Nev breathlessly.

"Knock yourself out," I said, dismounting. "I wonder if there's any food inside the service station."

"And we should check the gift shop." Bailey sniffed themselves. "I could use a clean shirt."

"I like the way you smell, Bailey," said Nev, hugging them from behind. Bailey's arms went slack, their face frozen in pleasure from her touch.

"Th-thanks."

"Why don't you two check the gift shop? Simon, let's see if the servo is open." Internally grinning, I left my friends to explore together, unable to prevent myself from hoping that there was something more than friendship blooming between them.

The service station doors hung open like broken teeth. "Dammit..." I'd been willing the store to be filled to the brim with sugary sealed drinks and long-life fatty snacks, but as we stepped inside, we saw that most of the shelves had been emptied.

Simon and I salvaged what we could from the rejects, collecting warm bottles of Mountain Dew, packs of orange flavoured gum, bags of salt and pepper cashews and other oddities. When I discovered a sealed box of Toblerones behind the counter, I ripped one open and crammed it in my mouth, moaning at the sweetness of the treat.

Outside, Nev and Bailey greeted us excitedly. "Look what we found! One for each of us!"

Nev threw me a tee in a bright mint colour with a black silhouette of a sheep and a printed slogan that declared, "Sheep happens."

"Thanks," I said, unable to muster much enthusiasm. "Let's see if the caravan park has a working shower block."

We rode next door, to the Goulburn Valley Caravan Park, a sprawling complex behind a fence topped with barbed wire. The front gates were closed, but there was a small gatehouse to the left, and just inside the gates, a squat building labelled Tent Zone - Bathrooms and Laundry.

Thank god. I hadn't showered since Tuesday morning, and it was now Thursday. My skin itched and I stank, and my only thought was getting under running water, even if it was cold, and cleansing every inch of myself.

Maybe that's why I didn't show any caution, running straight up to the gates and attempting to yank them open. "Guys, come and help me!"

They rushed forward and together we heaved at the heavy wooden blockade. "It's moving!" I grunted.

"It better not be," replied a hard voice from behind us, followed by the unmistakable click of a rifle being cocked.

We froze. My guts loosened in fear. Slowly, we turned to face the woman who held us at gunpoint.

She was about my mum's age, but her features were as stony as the giant carved sheep next door. Her short brown hair was tucked beneath an Akubra, and she wore stained jeans under a flannel shirt. A no-nonsense country woman with a very large gun in her hands that she aimed at us calmly.

"Get the hell out of here, and no one gets hurt," she said, her voice raspy.

"I'm sorry," I said, backing away from the gate. "We just wanted-"

"I don't care." She took a step forward, and we fell backward, scattering in fright. "This is my joint, and you're not taking it from me."

"We're not trying to." Bailey held up their hands. "We just wanted to shower and camp for the night."

"And what the hell are you supposed to be?" she sneered at Bailey.

"That's my mate," growled Simon. "And gun or not, watch your goddamn words."

"This is my property, I can say what I want. And shoot who I want." She stepped forwards again, her eyes squinting in rage.

I forced the others back. "We're going, okay? No one has to get shot here."

"Hey!" Rueben's voice rang out along the road, and the woman swung her shotgun in his direction.

"No!" Mischa! Pure instinct compelled me to run into her line of fire, protecting the child. Blocking her shot, I begged, "They're with us! We have a kid with us, please don't shoot!"

I heard Mischa cry, "Daddy? Daddy!" and I prayed that if the woman shot, I'd be at least killed quickly.

Her face changed as she noticed Mischa, and her jaw dropped open. The barrel of the gun lowered. "You've got a kid with you?"

"My daughter." Rueben's voice. He stepped beside me and interlaced his fingers with mine, drawing me back. "She's eight."

"Please," I said, my voice as calm and soothing as I could make it. "We were just looking for shelter. We'll go. Please let us go."

"My granddaughter is eight," replied the woman. Her eyes had softened. "She's here for the school holidays. I've got her and twenty grey nomads here, and I'm the one who has to keep them all safe."

"We're no threat to you."

"Two men tried to break in yesterday, said they were going to take our supplies. I had to shoot one of them in the leg."

I said, "We have our own supplies. We're headed for Melbourne, and we just wanted a safe place to spend the night. I'm sorry we made you feel threatened."

She considered us for another long moment, then nodded. "Alright. One night. You can stay in the Tent Zone. If you try to approach the caravans, you will be shot. Got it?"

Everyone made noises of assent.

"I'm Bev," she said gruffly. I noticed she didn't unload the gun as she unlocked the gates and ushered us inside. "Toilet blocks are there. Water's still running, none of it hot."

"Thank you," said Rueben.

"Can I play with your granddaughter?" asked Mischa, her little voice far too cheerful for the atmosphere. "She can meet Bella. That's the puppy."

"I'll... I'll see. Maybe." The woman who'd come perilously close to killing us backed away suspiciously and left us alone in the Tent Zone, which was completely bereft of tents.

Rueben still held my hand, and he squeezed my fingers, asking, "Are you okay?"

"I need the bathroom." I hadn't actually crapped myself, but I'd come close. I'd always thought that was an exaggeration, loosing your bowels in fear, but if I didn't get to a toilet in the next thirty seconds, there would be trouble.

"Karla... I have to say..."

"Not now," I said, pushing past him. "Whatever it is, tell me later."

I sprinted for the breeze-blocked building, barely ripping my tights down with enough time before landing on the toilet seat.

I shat my guts out and cried, my sobs muffled against the thick walls and corrugated tin roof, a thousand miles from my family, in a world that no longer felt safe.

If you've ever been in Australia, you'll know that we have an obsession with 'big' things - we have a Big Banana, the Big Pineapple, the Big Prawn - and yes, the Big Merino, check out the chapter pic :)

I'm so appreciative of you, my amazing reader - for picking up a story when it's young and trusting that I'll get you there. I have a few unfinished works on my shelf at the moment, so I've lost a bit of credibility when it comes to completing tales - I am committed to this one, because it's a story that I'm writing for me. Sometimes I start a book for a specific publishing angle, or for a competition, or because I think it will be popular. This story came from pure need to write it, nothing else.

So please stick with me - votes and comments help immensely, which is a weird concept - you click a star or type a few words on your end, but for me, they give me hope that I'm on the right track and spending a sunny Sunday here in this world is time well spent.

Question - have you ever had an experience with a gun? I haven't (Australia has tight gun laws, with weapons only common in farming communities) but I'm curious if you have. Share below - see you soon,

xx Kate