The Road to Silverton

“It’s not an adventure if you’re not at least a little bit scared.” — Mandy Glasson

The air around the Broken Hill Trades Hall shimmered with a peculiar energy, as though the whole town had come to life for the occasion. Violet found herself swept up in the tide of khaki uniforms and bright chatter, the atmosphere crackling with that peculiar blend of nerves and excitement that only accompanied the start of something long-awaited. Girls laughed too loudly, their voices carrying across the wide gravel yard; others huddled in tight groups, whispering secrets and swapping contraband lollies before leaders could catch them.

The early sun was already rising strong, washing the scene in a golden brilliance that made water bottles glint like silver and hair ribbons blaze in improbable colours. The smell of dust — already kicked up by the restless scuffling of boots — mingled with eucalyptus from the nearby gums, a scent that clung to the Outback morning as stubbornly as memory.

Parents lingered on the periphery, their expressions a jumble of indulgent amusement and faint worry. A few mothers fussed endlessly with straps and collars, tightening belts that had already been tightened twice. Fathers carried heavy packs to the bus steps, their eyes flicking to the long road ahead as though it held an answer they couldn’t quite put into words.

Violet stood at the centre of it all, her rucksack slung firmly over one shoulder, flanked by the girls who had come to define her world: Mandy, quick-witted and irrepressible even now, her hair bouncing with every laugh; Michelle, trying for good cheer but betraying herself in the set of her mouth, shadows of family tension still clinging to her; and Rebecca, nervously adjusting her sash and smoothing her skirt as if presentation might guard her against the uncertain days to come.

To anyone watching, they were just four girls at the start of an ordinary camp — a week of hikes, crafts, and campfire songs in the Silverton scrub. Yet Violet felt the weight of other truths pressing at her ribs. She saw the glee in the younger Guides chasing one another in circles, the leaders in their wide-brimmed hats corralling order out of chaos, and she felt the peculiar double-vision that had haunted her since Sally’s death: the surface brightness of the scene, and beneath it, the shadow.

For even here, in this cacophony of anticipation, she could not forget what Silverton had become in her mind — no longer merely a place of dusty streets and art galleries, but a nexus of vanishings, secrets, and whispered dangers.

Michelle clasped her hands together as though trying to bottle the excitement fizzing through her. “I can’t wait to get out there — the hikes, the campfires, everything. Just think, Vi. A whole week without homework or teachers.”

Rebecca smirked, tugging self-consciously at the end of her plait. “You mean without Mr. Clarke breathing down our necks.”

The joke earned a round of stifled giggles, though Violet’s laughter caught in her throat. The mere mention of Mr. Clarke’s name sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, the memory of their confrontation — and everything that had followed — flickering like heat haze at the edges of her mind. She forced the corners of her lips up, determined not to let the shadow intrude here, not now.

Mandy lowered her voice and leaned in. “And don’t go worrying about Silverton,” she added, her tone confident. “Dad says people are blowing things out of proportion. The papers won’t print the worst of it, and the police…” She trailed off, her eyes flicking away. “Well, Dad’s making sure it all stays contained. So, the camp goes on.”

Michelle frowned, her earlier brightness dimming a fraction. “Contained? Mandy, that sounds like something out of a film. Sally’s dead. Doesn’t that mean—”

“Shh,” Mandy cut across, glancing quickly at the knot of leaders nearby. “Look, Dad says it’s safer than people think. If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be going, would we?”

Rebecca raised her brows but said nothing, twisting her badge sash a little tighter around her shoulder. Violet watched the exchange closely, her heart pinching at Mandy’s certainty. Contained. It was a word that rang uncomfortably close to Ethan’s warnings and to the threads she herself had begun to unravel. Yet she forced herself to smile again, tucking the doubt deep inside where her friends couldn’t see it.

For a fleeting instant, she allowed herself to believe it — that this was only a camp like any other, filled with burnt marshmallows, whispered midnight stories, and long walks beneath the stars.

Michelle tugged at the collar of her denim jacket, restless fingers betraying the fizzing energy she carried like a live wire. “I can’t wait to get there,” she declared, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. “It’s going to be a blast! I’ve already got a list of pranks for lights-out, and I say we make at least one midnight feast. You’re all in, right?”

Mandy let out a laugh that rang above the din of the crowd, tossing her copper hair so that it caught the sun like molten fire. “Absolutely! And don’t worry about food—I’ve packed enough to last the whole troop.” She grinned, eyes bright with exaggerated pride. “Biscuits, crisps, even a whole packet of Toffees. No one’s going hungry on my watch.”

Violet rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Mandy’s grand claims were as predictable as they were endearing, her habit of turning every small thing into a great performance. Still, Violet knew her friend meant it: when the time came, every crumb in that rucksack would be shared. It was just who Mandy was—loud, generous, impossible not to love.

Rebecca, standing slightly apart but close enough to be part of the knot they formed, let a small smile play across her lips. “Honestly, I think it’ll be good just to get away for a while,” she said, her voice calm and measured, but with a note of quiet yearning beneath it. “Some time in the fresh air. A chance to… breathe. To just be.”

Something in the way she said it made Violet’s chest tighten. She caught Rebecca’s eye and, in that brief exchange, felt a thread of silent communication pass between them—an acknowledgment of the strain each of them carried, though none of them spoke of it outright. Rebecca always saw more than she let on, her intuition cutting clean through façades.

“You’re right, Bec,” Violet murmured, her voice softer than she intended. “This camp… it’s what we all need right now.”

The words seemed to settle over the group, grounding them amidst the chaos of excited Guides crowding the pavement. Their little circle tightened, laughter bubbling up again as the girls slipped back into the comfort of small talk—misremembered packing lists, whispered speculations about the camp leaders, exaggerated fantasies of the adventures to come.

For Violet, the chatter was a welcome reprieve. Just for a heartbeat, she let herself be swept along by their enthusiasm, the heavy knot of dread in her stomach loosening. For the first time in weeks, she almost felt like an ordinary girl again, waiting for a bus that promised nothing more sinister than singalongs and smoky campfires.

Michelle grinned wickedly, leaning closer as though already plotting. “First night, we raid the leaders’ stash. I heard they keep the Tim Tams locked in a tin under the counter.”

Mandy gasped with mock scandal, then broke into laughter. “Michelle Richards, you are a menace. You’ll get us all banned from Girl Guides for life.” She rummaged in her rucksack, producing a packet of Minties with a triumphant flourish. “But don’t worry. I’ve come prepared for emergencies.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes fondly. “You’ll rot our teeth before the week’s out.” But there was a softness in her voice that suggested she wouldn’t mind one bit.

The exchange drew a genuine laugh from Violet, a sound that startled her by how light it felt. For the briefest moment, the shadows that had dogged her since Sally’s death loosened their grip. Here, among these girls — her girls — she could almost believe in a world where danger didn’t lurk in every corner, where secrets weren’t waiting to suffocate her.

And yet, even in the midst of their laughter, Violet’s gaze strayed to Rebecca. Her friend’s hands were clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles pale against the soft fabric of her skirt. Rebecca was smiling, yes, but there was something taut beneath it — an unspoken awareness, a quiet comprehension that went deeper than words. Violet felt the weight of it settle on her chest: Bec knows. Not everything, not the whole truth, but enough to see I’m not alright.

The shrill blast of a whistle cut through the chatter, jolting the group. Leaders in crisp uniforms began herding the Guides into a semblance of order, their cheerful calls carrying over the din. Girls scrambled for their rucksacks, pulling straps tighter, laughter turning into excited shrieks as the bus doors groaned open with a hiss of compressed air.

“Here we go,” Michelle breathed, bouncing on her toes, her earlier mischief replaced by wide-eyed anticipation. “Next stop: Silverton.”

Violet forced a smile, clutching the strap of her own rucksack until her fingers ached. The name sat heavy in her chest, thrumming with echoes of Ethan’s warnings and the glimpses of secrets she wished she could unsee.

But she said nothing. Not now. Not when their laughter was still hanging in the air.

As the bus lurched from the kerb, gears grinding before settling into a steady rumble, Violet felt a peculiar tug in her chest. The neat streets of Broken Hill slipped away behind them—verandas shaded by corrugated iron awnings, corner shops with faded signage, front gardens fighting a losing battle against the heat and dust. Each landmark felt like a goodbye, waved past the window without ceremony.

The road soon opened into the raw immensity of the Outback. Ochre earth stretched to the horizon, punctuated by wiry tufts of spinifex and the skeletal grace of scattered gum trees, their bark ghostly white against the sky. Heat shimmered already, though the day was young, and the land seemed to breathe with a silent, timeless patience.

Rebecca leaned forward between the seats, her hand gripping the vinyl headrest in front of her. Her dark hair swung as she tilted her head, eyes wide. “It’s like we’ve left one world behind and stepped into another,” she murmured, her voice carrying a quiet reverence.

Violet followed her gaze, the vastness pressing in on her. “It makes you realise how small we are,” she said softly. “Like the land could swallow us whole and no one would even notice.” The words slipped out before she could soften them. Rebecca gave her a searching glance, as if weighing whether Violet had meant more than she said.

The steady sway of the bus, the muted thrum of the tyres, and the chatter of thirty voices soon wrapped the girls in a cocoon of noise and movement. For the first time in weeks, Violet felt herself release some of the tension wound so tightly inside her. She slumped against the cracked vinyl of her seat, letting the voices of her friends ripple around her like a tide.

Michelle, ever the performer, had already claimed the aisle as her stage. She stood in the narrow strip between the seats, miming grand gestures as she launched into a tale of her cousin’s supposed misadventure with a goat and a broken fence. Her voice rose and fell in dramatic cadences, punctuated by scandalised gasps and her own laughter. Even the older Guides at the back craned forward, drawn into her orbit.

Mandy, cheeks flushed with amusement, clutched her sides. “You’re unbelievable,” she giggled, then leaned forward with her own conspiratorial sparkle. “But just wait—at camp, we’re going to have real fun. Midnight feasts. Sneaking out. What if we hide everyone’s shoes? Imagine the morning chaos!”

Her suggestion was greeted with a chorus of delighted shrieks and mock horror. One girl clutched her bag to her chest, declaring dramatically, “Not my new sneakers!”

Rebecca, calm as ever, smiled wryly from her seat. “Or we could wait to see what the camp leaders have planned before we start waging war,” she suggested. Her tone was dry, but the humour in her eyes softened the rebuke.

The laughter swelled again, bouncing off the bus windows and mingling with the rattle of loose panels. Violet smiled with them, even joining in the chorus of giggles. Yet beneath the warmth of their camaraderie, a flicker of unease remained. She couldn’t shake the memory of Ethan’s warning, nor the image of Mr. Clarke’s burning gaze, nor the brief flash of colour that had haunted her room. The Outback might look beautiful, bathed in morning light—but to Violet it also felt vast enough to swallow secrets without so much as a second glance.

As the kilometres unspooled beneath the bus tyres, the conversation shifted and swirled as naturally as the passing scenery. One moment the girls were laughing over Mrs Fairchild’s disastrous attempt at a school assembly sing-along, the next they were whispering about which of the older Guides might sneak cigarettes into the camp.

Mandy leaned over the back of her seat, and declared with mock solemnity, “I’ve heard they make us wash in freezing rainwater buckets if we don’t shower quick enough.”

Michelle snorted, clutching her stomach. “Please. I’ll believe that when I see it. Anyway, if they try it, I’ll just dump the whole bucket over Mandy and make a run for it.”

Their laughter was so bright it made Violet smile in spite of herself. She even added, “Just don’t use mine. I’ll be the one hiding under a blanket, pretending I don’t exist.”

The chatter spun on: talk of ghost stories they might tell after dark, who had packed the most contraband snacks, whether the camp leaders would be strict or secretly soft-hearted. Rebecca murmured, “I bet the night sky will be amazing. No lights out there, just stars upon stars. Makes you wonder how small our lives really are.”

Violet caught her friend’s words like a pebble dropped into her chest. Small. Insignificant. The thought echoed with Ethan’s warnings, with the shadows she had begun to glimpse beneath the fabric of her own world. Yet when Michelle rolled her eyes dramatically and cried, “Oh great, Bec’s gone philosophical again!” the others erupted into laughter, and Violet found herself laughing too—though her voice trembled at the edges.

For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to lean into the rhythm of their friendship. The bus rocked gently, the vinyl seat warm against her back, and for a few fleeting moments she felt like an ordinary girl on an ordinary trip. No conspiracies, no shadows at the edge of her dreams—just the chatter of her friends, the wide sweep of the Outback beyond the glass, and the promise of adventure ahead.