The kangaroo they hit was a large one, a grey, probably a young male. She saw it lit up in the headlights, heard the thump of the impact, watched it fall. The foreleg looked disconcertingly human, a hand and an arm.

          They had been driving through the gathering dusk too fast for the conditions, the only sound the rumble of the tires against the corrugated surface. The kangaroos had appeared to lurk in the scrub beside the road, choosing their moment to leap into the headlights, flying at them from left and right - and until then it had all seemed unreal: an inverted video game, where the object was not to hit them.

          It had been a long time since either of them had commented on the living, moving obstacles in their path; she had long since stopped wincing, too, at the nearer misses. They just sat in their respective seats, leaning forward, tensed against their seatbelts as the final kilometres ticked down.

          The last thing she had said, peering at the map in the half light, was ‘thirty more Ks,’ and with the instinct born of the endless journey they had both looked at the speedometer and silently worked out how long that would be. Half an hour? That had been ten minutes ago.

          It seemed to take a long time to bring the Toyota to a halt on the hard-packed gravel road.

          ‘We’ve got to go back,’ she said. You had to check, make sure it wasn’t a female carrying a joey. He wanted to reverse but she stopped him and they both climbed out into the warm dry air, walking towards the huddled lump by the side of the road, only just visible in the dying light of the day.

          It was a male, at least, but alive. It lay patiently by the side of the road, one liquid eye open and watching, shifting back and forth between them.

          ‘I have to put it out of its misery,’ he said, setting his mouth as he looked down at the big quiet animal.

          ‘How?’ she asked, but he climbed back into the Land Cruiser without answering her. When she saw the reversing light come on she jumped in too, unwilling to be a witness to what was about to happen.

          But it was worse to be in the car. She felt the hump of the wheels – the ones on her side – over the kangaroo’s body. First the back one, then the front. He put the car into first gear and drove forward, repeating the manoeuvre. The front wheel first this time, rising a little, dropping, then the back.

          He drove on a little way and stopped.

          ‘Go and check if it’s dead,’ he said

          ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘You go.’

          He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the glow from the dashboard.

          ‘I can’t,’ he said, then, ‘Please.’

          She got out and heard the thrum of the insects, the slap and scrape of her sandals against the looser grit at the road’s edge. The last remnant of daylight had gone now and there were stars, a great immensity of sky above her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could make out the huddled mass of the kangaroo half shadowed by a bush. It looked very dead.