Ana would have preferred to take the long way to town, drive through the salmon gum forests, collect some quandongs and wildflowers, soak in the beauty of the Belt – but she didn't know how long her implant had been dislodged and didn't want to risk running out of time. 

The highway, though still lined with magnificent trees and native flowers, didn't have the same magic about it. Beyond the roadside the vast agricultural plains stretched all the way to the wall – the titanic structure a constant reminder of how hard life was on the other side, where people had to fight for food and medical supplies. Ana was taught to be thankful to be born here, in this walled garden, a food bowl with the largest freshwater source in the country. Like everyone else in the Belt, her family had been farming partners with the Ecocorp landowners for more than two centuries, and she felt proud to work the land and be part of the solution to global hunger, didn't she? Crossing the bridge over the Lake, she heard the familiar buzz of the Epsom Drones and she shivered a little as their giant collective shadow momentarily lingered above her before passing over the bridge. 

 

As a little girl Ana's mother would plonk a hard hat on her head, hand her a bucket and drag her into the field to catch the salts dropped by the Epsom Drones. Don't let the salt touch the ground, Ana, it will be ruined. Convinced that the ground was somehow poisoned and that the Ecocorp salts held the answer to permanent removal of their saline ports, Ana's mother made endless skin balms with the salts and used them obsessively. 

They often had late night visitors and Ana would catch bits of hushed conversations through the walls. People on the outside live until they are one hundred years old. Ecocorp aren't helping us, they are keeping us sick, dependent. People don't even have ports on the outside. If food is worth more than gold, who's getting the money? Not us! 

When her mother eventually decided to remove her port at the GODI, Ana had begged her to stay alive a little longer. You're only thirty-two, mum, some people wait until they're thirty-five. 

 

 

 

 

 

Excerpt from ‘The Salinites' by Amber Black in Follow the Salt (2025, Night Parrot Press).  https://www.nightparrotpress.com/follow-the-salt/

 

 

Author bio:

 

Amber Black is an emerging writer from South West WA. She earned her BA in Literature & Writing and Visual Art from Edith Cowan University and is completing honours research on personal narrative and the epistolary form. Her work features in NiTRO+Creative Matters, Meniscus Literary Journal, and the forthcoming collection Follow the Salt (2025, Night Parrot Press).