8 At this rate, he'd be found dead by his next birthday

Volta gritted his teeth as he dragged the young man through the men's bathroom at Nambour's premiere dump of a mall.

"Ow! Volta! Ow!" the young man scrambled to stay on his feet as Volta threw the door open on to the other hallway.

"Joey," Volta threw Joey against the wall, "you really fucked it this time."

Joey stood up straight, nearly a whole head taller and a half body wider than Volta. Tugging his loose fitting 'das tee back down over his stomach.

"Lil' Joey." He mumbled.

"Huh?" Volta took a step towards him.

"It's Lil' Joey now." He said again, pouting.

Volta seethed, grabbing the front of his shirt, pointing at him with a threatening finger.

"Joey, you fuck, you're–"

Volta paused and looked up as an old man sucking on his dentures moved past them to the bathroom. Whispering something under his breath that sounded a lot like 'uncivilised natives'.

The pair straightened up, Volta flipping his cap back around to the front.

"We're not done," he started to walk towards the grocery store, "let's get out of here first."

They strode from the hallway, past the small number of people loitering outside the registers.

Two middle-aged ladies sat on a bench drinking from extra large paper coffee cups, leaving matted pink lipstick on the off-white lids.

They cast a long eye over Volta and Joey, nostrils flared as if smelling something more than the stench of the building.

Volta slipped his hat off and winked at them.

"G'day sheilas."

One yelped, the other spilled coffee down her white blouse.

Joey let out a bark of laughter.

"Why'd you scare 'em like that for?" he wheezed as they walked through the sliding doors to the thoroughfare outside.

"I needed a pick-me-up," Volta looked around as the street started to fill with cars and school children, "you've put a dampener on my morning."

Volta pointed straight ahead.

"Walk." He said sharply.

"But-but-but." Joey started as they walked along the sidewalk to the creek beyond the mall.

"You made the news for starting that fight. With someone half your size." Volta turned down the pathway leading to the small bridge over the creek.

"But Volta, he wasn't very nice," Joey said looking down at his feet.

Volta stopped midway over the bridge, the expanse of the old park stretching out before them.

"When have 'they' ever been nice?" he snapped, "it definitely wasn't when they colonised us, and it wasn't when they took us from our families –"

"That's why you should let me punch them!" Joey whined.

Volta started to walk again, moving up along the path by the playground, needles and soft drink cans littering the sandpit.

"This is the radar," Volta held his hand flat out in front of Joey's face, "this is where I am," he pointed far below his palm, "this is where you, a 6-foot-100-kilo islander, are." he pointed far above his hand.

Joey bit on his lip.

"Now where do you think you need to be?" Volta said coolly.

Joey pointed below Volta's hand.

Volta nodded.

"Glad we're on the same page."

He stopped before the Discovery in the car park.

"Now get in, we're going back to base."

They sat in silence as Volta navigated the congested inner streets of Nambour's CBD, filling quickly with oversized off-road vehicles as school drop off time neared.

Volta had known Joey for nearly a year but was yet to be able to tame his flair for the dramatic. More often than not, Joey would find himself in hot water after running his mouth at the wrong person. More often than not, Volta would have to go to great lengths to deescalate potentially lethal situations.

Despite the rise in gun ownership, Joey continued to throw the first punch without assessing the situation. At this rate, he'd be found dead before his next birthday.

Joey synced up his phone with the car speakers and played Baker Boy, turning the volume up until the windows started to rattle from the bass.

Volta slid him a look, watching as he sucked on his bottom lip, violently mashing his thumbs on the screen of his iPhone.

"At least put on something good…" Volta muttered under his breath as he sped up the hill towards the hospital.

"Bruh, Volta, this is your peoples' music," Joey pointed to the speakers as the didgeridoo solo filled the cabin, "Baker Boy is lit."

Volta's nostrils flared as he slouched down in his seat.

"Yeah… dope…" he sighed.

"Yeah!" Joey excitedly rolled down his window as they slowed past the hospital entrance, "Black Magic!" he shouted out the window at the startled patients milling in the smoker's area by the road, "you are now witnessing the power—"

Volta rolled the window back up before Joey could continue.

"Radar!" Volta shouted over the music, "the radar!"

Joey hung his head, pouting.

"But—"

Volta changed the input for the speakers to CD. Upbeat Baker Boy being replaced by the smooth Wu-Tang Clan.

"Now this," Volta turned up the volume, "is what I'd consider to be lit."

Joey rolled his eyes and stared out the window as the hospital zone gave way to residential, then lifestyle properties as they turned right down Image Flat Road. Muttering what sounded like 'old people music' under his breath.

Halfway down Image Flat Road, before the farms started, they turned right onto Duhs Road, circling back around to a forested section directly opposite the hospital. Though technically classed as Image Flat, the homestead where they all lived was firmly on Nambour soil. Just far enough away to not be seen, close enough to be almost anywhere in Nambour within fifteen minutes.

The last place people would expect a black resistance to be held would be a colonial house with wrap-around verandas and cornices.

A classic Queenslander, single storey on high stumps with ornate entrances, the homestead spread wide across the horizon as the Discovery rumbled along the old cracked bitumen. All in white, with a cottage garden and manicured lawn, the bushland spread out behind in silent protection.

A garage to the side was built to look as pretty as the house, inside it was a space for the Discovery next to a 90s Datsun with its bonnet up and insides scattered throughout the workshop.

Volta pulled in next to the Datsun and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, lost in thought.

Joey jumped out and ran into the house, face glued to the screen of his phone as he went.

Volta looked at himself in the rearview mirror.

"I'm not going to find the water. I'm letting it go." He rehearsed.

"It's over," he glared at himself, "I don't care about it anymore."

He shook his head, gritting his teeth.

"I'm terminating the search." He said sternly.

He nodded, pleased with his delivery.

He slid out of the car and walked around to the back of the house and up the staircase.

The kitchen sat to the rear of the house, looking out onto the hilly bushland beyond. High ceilings, tongue and groove walls, the kitchen was simple but long, stretching nearly half the house. Beyond the kitchen was the living area, the main bathroom, and three bedrooms.

To the right of the kitchen was the master bedroom where Volta stayed. His door always closed and locked, no one having set foot inside in years.

The conversation in the living room died off as Volta swept through the kitchen, dropping the keys into the communal keys-and-other-important-stuffs bowl.

A long couch sat under a large window, covered in an array of cushions. Armchairs sat opposite with a giant coffee table in the middle. This was the headquarters of their resistance, all from the comfort of plush surfaces with a high-speed Wi-Fi connection.

Joey sunk into the couch, still tapping away at his phone, brow furrowed and tongue sticking out in concentration.

On the other end of the couch sat the mocha-skinned woman, Sage, legs crossed under her laptop as she watched the man sitting in the armchair opposite.

Volta slid to a stop in front of his armchair, looking around the room.

"I'm terminating the search." He spat out.

Everyone looked up at Volta, eyebrows raised.

"Oy, Bob wins this round." Joey reached for his wallet.

Bob chuckled softly, winking at Sage who was searching her pockets for money.

Volta scoffed.

"What?"

"Bob said you'd rather give up the search for the water than work with a white girl." Sage pulled out a coin and chucked it at Bob, narrowly missing his head.

Volta sat down hard in his chair.

"Am I that predictable?"

The faces of his three friends said 'yes, yes you are'.

"She's not that bad, is she?" Bob leaned forwards, tapping Volta on the knee.

Volta groaned, leaning back.

"She exclusively wears activewear, drinks black coffee and thinks she's saving the world by being vegan." He spat.

Sage frowned.

"But Volta, don't you drink black coffee and…" she looked him up and down, "is that not activewear?"

"It's different," Volta glared at her, "it's pretentious when she does it."

"So you're saying… you can't work with her because she's… vegan?"

"What? No, I'm just saying it's really elitist to not eat meat y'know…" Volta trailed off.

The first time he saw her she was marching through the crowded gallery space of Swampland, balled fists and grit teeth. He thought he was about to see her punch someone in the balls, but all she did was say hello to a Councillor and awkwardly talk to the strange Korean man.

He thought at first she might be pretty, but her shoulders were bulky and her eyes squinted when she thought too hard. She had an air of arrogance, and who held their beer bottle in their mouth like that?

She fought like a feral cat, out of control. She was lucky the man she was rolling around with on the sidewalk wasn't really trying to kill her, she was lucky her water bottle was in reach. Volta wondered what it'd be like if angry Velvet and angry Joey were left in a room together… now that would be a fight worthy of a Livestream.

When faced with a loaded gun she didn't grasp the brevity of the situation, and to top it all off she flailed around so much she nearly shot Volta's ear off in the process. She was a major liability.

'Not bad for a first date'.

Her words had floated up the stairwell of the deli as Volta left that day.

What did she mean?

He shook his head.

"She's just so… loud… uncoordinated… embarrassing."

The three friends exchanged a look.

"Well we couldn't find anything inside the deli while you were distracting her yesterday," Sage tapped on the keyboard of her laptop, "despite it being our third sweep, all we found was the gun lodged under the cosmetics shelf."

"Volta…" Bob waved his hand in front of Volta's face, "Volta look at me."

Volta rolled his eyes, frowning at Bob.

"We have been looking for this water for five years. We only just found Sage, our first major win for as long as I can remember; we've come so far. You can't just stop now."

Volta sighed.

"Volta," Sage put her laptop down, "just ask her for help. She doesn't seem too bad. She's lonely, just be her friend."

Volta's eyes nearly bulged from his head.

"Friend?" he spat, "I don't do friends."

Sage went to open her mouth again, but Bob waved his hand.

It was best if they didn't get offended by that remark.

"Anyway, what's this I heard about Joey getting into a fight with a teenager?" Bob leaned back, eyes sparkling.

"Joey, you explain," Volta grunted.

"Joey?" Volta looked up.

Joey was gone.

In the garage the Discovery roared to life, the sound of the engine sending black cockatoos fleeing from nearby gumtrees.

The three jumped up and rushed to the window in time to see Joey reversing, laying down a solid layer of rubber as he spun the car around and raced from the property.

"Where is he going?" Sage whispered.

Volta took off his hat and ran his hand over his head.

Joey had been glued to his phone since they got in the car earlier.

"Pull up his feed." Volta motioned at Sage's laptop.

Sage turned on the television and tapped at her keyboard until Joey's newsfeed showed on the screen before them.

"It looks like he got in an argument with someone." Sage clicked on a recent status filled with comments.

"Seamus Flannery." Bob tapped on the picture of a young man with an Australian flag painted on his face.

'I heard you were the boong that hit my brother. Let's hope the police get to you before I do', Seamus had written to Joey.

"Let's see his profile." Volta paced back and forth in front of the television.

Seamus Flannery's profile loomed before them, awash with white Australian patriotism; Bintang; flip-flops; Unit tees; and NotAllMen hashtags.

"There," Bob pointed, "he's streaming something."

Sage brought the video up.

Seamus stood before a small group of people on the steps of the ANZAC memorial in the middle of town, holding an Aboriginal flag out before him.

"We should be allowed to feel safe in our own homes, in our own towns, in our own schools," he shouted, "we have a right to express how we feel without being beaten up by out of control Aborigines."

The crowd broke into scattered applause.

Bob, Sage, and Volta stood, mouths agape at the scene before them.

"Why must we be sorry for what our forefathers did?" Seamus continued, "why must we be ashamed of bringing decency to this country?"

"Turn it off," Volta said softly, eyes dilated.

The television went black as they stood in silence, looking down at the ground.

Volta put his cap back on his head, turning it to the back, teeth clenched.

"Volta—" Bob reached out to Volta.

Volta turned on his heel and stormed from the house, throwing the front door open and running down the stairs.

"Shit."

Bob and Sage jumped into action, shoving their feet into shoes and grabbing their things.

"How is he going to get into town?" Sage chased after Bob as they left the house.

"More importantly," Bob looked around, "how are we going to get there?"

Sage shrugged, looking around, backpack hanging off her shoulder and laptop nestled in her arm like a baby.

"Isn't that your specialty, Bob?" she grinned.

Bob paused.

"True." He winked.