by Des Hunt
Murph looked to be asleep when we walked into his room. He seemed much smaller than I remembered. His skinny body scarcely made a mound in the bed. There was a drip connected to his left arm, and oxygen tubes up his nose. Neither seemed to make much difference to his breathing, which was just as noisy as usual. However, his face was no longer the horrible purple colour we’d seen when we found him collapsed in the aviary.
‘Hello, mate,’ said Dad. ‘How’s it going?’
Murph gave a little shake of his head. ‘Bloody awful, mate,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t had a fag for five days.’ He raised the arm attached to the drip. ‘I could save them a lot of money on painkillers if they’d just let me have a fag instead of this stuff.’
Mum looked around at the patients in the other three beds. ‘They might object, though,’ she said.
‘Ha!’ replied Murph. ‘Can’t see that happening. None of them have said a thing since I was brought in here. They’re all either unconscious or dead.’
Dad chuckled. ‘Apart from fags, is there anything you want?’
‘Nah, mate. Nothing for me. But you can do something back at the house. The birds need checking out.’
Mum, Dad and Nick all looked at me, clearly nominating me as the one to tell him.
‘They’ve gone,’ I said, quietly. ‘The same day you came in here.’
He sighed and closed his eyes. ‘What about Harriet?’
‘I’m looking after her,’ answered Nick before I had the chance.
Murph’s eyes opened. ‘Is she OK? No sign of the sickness?’
‘None,’ said Nick. ‘She’s great!’ He lifted the pendant I’d given him. ‘Look what Danny made for me.’
When Murph focused on the bone carving, his eyes watered. He reached up a hand to touch it and rub it with his fingers. ‘That’s good,’ he said. Then he smiled at me. ‘That’s real good.’
Soon afterwards, we left.
The news that night was mostly Christmas cheer and goodwill to all. However, they did find a spot for the bird-flu epidemic, probably because that was mostly good news as well. They reported that the unnamed suspected victim had been found to be clear of the virus. This led officials to believe that this particular strain of H6N3 could not infect humans.
They also showed a brief clip of Colin Saxton saying that BIRT believed the epidemic was waning, if not already over. No sick or recently dead birds had been found for several days. They were winding back their presence in the area, and would return only if new cases were discovered.
All in our house were pleased for everything to be over, particularly Dad. Now, there was little chance that anybody would worry about the source of the photos, especially with the summer holidays underway. It looked like we were finally in the clear.
That was something to be celebrated. Mum brought out some fancy desserts she’d made, and we sat around the table planning what we’d do over the next week before Dad had to go back to work.
We started with each person creating a wish list. Mine was the usual mix of going swimming, renting movies, visiting a wildlife park — the sorts of things I knew we could afford. But Nick’s was full of things like bungee jumping, white-water rafting, jet boating, dolphin watching. As soon as he read his list out, I knew those sorts of things were never going to happen. But that’s when Mum made a big revelation: Aunty Yvonne had sent money for just such events. To me, the amount involved seemed like a fortune. If this was what it was like to be spoilt stupid, then I was quite happy to end up stupid.
By bedtime, we had the week all planned out. First up was an early morning visit to Allans Beach so that Nick could get a decent photo of the penguins: in the morning it was easier to get close to them, as they were hungry and keen to get out fishing. But if you wanted to see both the little blues and yellow-eyed, you had to be there at daybreak, which meant getting up at four o’clock. Mum and Dad said they’d drive out later in the morning and we’d have a breakfast barbecue on the beach. It all sounded perfect, and I went to sleep excited that the real holidays were about to begin.
CHAPTER 16
Since Harriet had moved into our bedroom, she’d been our alarm clock in the morning. As soon as there was enough light for her to see, she’d start crunching on seeds. Then, with her breakfast finished, she’d start making squeaking noises until one of us got up and let her out of the cage. After that it was impossible to get any more sleep, because every time you dozed off she’d perch by your ear and screech, ‘Give us a kiss! Give us a kiss!’ Eventually one of us would get up and take her out to the lounge so the other could have a lie-in.
On Boxing Day morning, however, we got our own back.
Nick’s phone alarm woke us at four. It was pitch-black in the house. I turned on the bedside light and began to get dressed. That’s when Harriet woke, and she sure was grumpy. She looked at me and gave a noise that could only be described as a snort. Then her eyes moved to Nick, and she snorted again.
‘We won’t be long, Harriet,’ soothed Nick.
Snort!
‘It’s all right. Just go back to sleep.’
She gave another snort, before ruffling her feathers and pulling her head in closer to her body. But she didn’t tuck it in under the feathers as per normal. Instead, she kept her eyes free so that she could continue to glare at us.
I laughed. ‘OK, Harriet. We’re going. You can sleep in as long as you like now.’ I then turned out the light.
Her reply was yet another snort.
It was both exciting and scary riding in the darkness to Allans Beach. The dim light from our torches made every tree and shrub on the side of the road take on a different form, as if each was some creature preparing to leap out at us. Nick didn’t help either. He insisted on telling horror stories: vampires, werewolves, hellcats, zombies, ghosts — they were all included. By the time we got there, I think he was beginning to scare even himself.
There was a different sort of horror waiting for us in the car park, however: Brio and Roost’s van was still there. As this was the day they were meant to be going to Australia, I thought they’d be well clear of the peninsula.
We turned off our torches and kept as quiet as possible as we wheeled our bikes past the van to a hiding place behind a pile of stinky rubbish bags. Only when we were over the stile and walking through the paddock did we begin to relax.
I chose a track that led up to the slope to the hide that Brio and Roost had made. From it we should see the little blues coming down off the hill, and also the yellow-eyeds emerging from the lupins. The only thing that might prevent Nick from getting a good photo was the low light level. Although the sky was clear of clouds, the sun was still well below the horizon.
A cruise ship was anchored offshore. It was quite a sight, all decked out in colourful Christmas lights. Over the summer there were often ships waiting to enter the harbour. They would come in to spend the day anchored at Port Chalmers and leave again in the evening.
While we waited, Nick took photos of the ship, the beach, and even of me. None of them was worth keeping as there simply wasn’t enough light.
It was still too dark when the first penguins appeared. They were a group of blues moving down off the hill as fast as their little legs would allow. They tumbled onto the beach and penguin-sprinted to the water where they disappeared into the waves.
Soon afterwards, two more groups followed, and then that was the end of the blues. Now we had to wait for their bigger cousins, who liked more daylight before they left the shelter of their roosts.
It was a boring wait. Moisture from the wet ground soaked into my pants until I felt I was sitting in water. We couldn’t stand up and stretch, because any unusual movement would cause the penguins to delay their departure.
Slowly the sky got light. Birds started singing. Then another altogether different sound came from within the lupins. One of the strangest sounds I’d ever heard near Allans Beach.
My first thought was that it was a sea lion barking. But
it would need to have been a very sick sea lion, because each ‘bark’ ended with a high-pitched wheeze followed by a knocking sound.
Nick put his mouth near my ear. ‘It’s a werewolf,’ he whispered. ‘I told you they were around here somewhere.’
‘Shut up, Nick,’ I snarled. ‘Let me listen.’
The diseased-barking sound continued a few more times before stopping. We waited, expecting something more to come. When it did, it was a hissing noise scarcely loud enough to hear.
‘I was wrong,’ whispered Nick. ‘It’s a hellcat.’
I ignored him. There was something terribly wrong with this noise. I felt that I’d heard it before, but never in a wild place like this. It was certainly a man-made noise, not an animal one.
The hissing faded away and, shortly afterwards, the barking resumed.
‘I’m going out to take a look,’ I said.
‘What about the penguins?’ asked Nick.
‘Forget them,’ I said. ‘They’re never coming out with that noise going on.’
‘OK, I’m coming, too.’
We left the hide and sprinted the fifty metres to the edge of the lupins, where we paused to listen for the noise. The hissing was back. I tried to work out the direction, but it seemed to come from everywhere.
Then the barking returned. That was much easier to locate. I got a fix and started pushing through the lupins in that direction.
‘What if it’s a sea lion?’ whispered Nick following close behind. ‘Remember what happened last time. Shouldn’t we climb a hill so we can see down?’
It was a good suggestion. I moved towards the nearest sand hill.
By the time we reached the top, whatever was making the noise had cycled through to the barking again. It was below us and fairly close. We scanned the tops of the lupins looking for movement. There was nothing. Then the hissing started and we saw a spray of water jetting high above the lupins before slowly falling as misty rain. It stopped for a moment before starting again a couple of metres away.
‘Is that some animal peeing?’ asked Nick.
I smiled. Yes, there was a yellow tinge to the liquid which made it look like urine, but no animal in the world could pee that well. ‘It’s somebody spraying,’ I said.
‘Why?’
I shook my head. It didn’t make any sense. Why would anybody want to spray such an important wildlife habitat?
Once more, the jet ran out of pressure and had to be pumped up again. Now it was easy to identify the barking noise: I had heard it many times when Mum sprayed roses in our garden.
When the spraying resumed, a figure moved into a small clearing. Even though the face was covered by a respirator, I recognized the hippie clothes and unusual movement. It was Roost.
Nick stood, held up his phone and aimed it at the man. He was about to press the button when a voice spoke from behind us.
‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea.’
I spun around. It was Brio. She was standing with her legs apart and both hands on a stick held out ready for attack.
Before she had a chance to say anything more, we took off. Nick in one direction, me in the other.
I headed into the lupins: if it was a choice between coming face to face with a sea lion or meeting Brio, the sea lion would be my pick, as I knew she wouldn’t go anywhere near one. It also seemed like a good idea to stay hidden in the lupins for a while.
Time passed slowly. All the while I could hear Roost working the pump. There were other noises, too: thrushes sorting through the undergrowth for snails, and low throaty gurgles which could have been penguins.
The wait gave me time to wonder why we’d been so quick to run. What she’d said wasn’t at all threatening, and it had been said in a normal enough voice. It must have been the unspoken language that made us panic: everything about her body spoke of anger and violence; that she was ready to do whatever was necessary to get her own way.
Then I heard her coming towards me. Her footfalls were a soft shuffle in the sand, but it was enough to scare a thrush, which took off with a noisy squawk. The footsteps stopped. I sensed she was close by, listening. I even thought I could hear her breathing.
Or was it my lungs? I could certainly hear my heart pounding away.
The tops of nearby lupins began moving. I got a glimpse of Brio’s face, set with determination as she pushed through the bushes. Again she stopped and looked around, but fortunately not in my direction. A moment later, she moved on and I started breathing freely again.
When after many minutes I’d heard nothing more and was satisfied that she’d given up the chase, I left the lupins and took the main path back to the car park, figuring that Nick would eventually head back there as well. Roost was still spraying, so Brio had probably gone back to keep an eye on him.
I came to a place where the path widened into a clearing. The rabbits having their breakfast there scattered in all directions as I walked across to the bushes on the other side.
That’s when the attack happened. One moment I was walking through lupins, confident that I would get away free; the next, I was sprawled on the ground. Brio had used the stick to bash at my knees so that my legs went from under me.
Instantly, she was standing over me with the stick held high, almost daring me to have a go.
‘On your feet!’ she ordered. Then she turned to the bush. ‘You, too!’
Nick came out, hobbling a little, which told me that he’d fallen for the same trap.
Brio lined us up and studied us. ‘God, you two are pathetic. Snooping around the place like you’re great detectives or something. But you are just so predictable it’s a joke.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘You haven’t any idea what’s going on, have you? Well, you’re about to find out.’ She pointed the stick back towards the sea. ‘Walk!’ she ordered. ‘Now!’
CHAPTER 17
Nick and I sat close together on the sand watching Brio adjusting her camera on a tripod.
She had guided us to a rise on the beach side to where Roost was still spraying. She’d clearly been there earlier, for her camera was mounted on a tripod pointed at a path leading from the lupins. As soon as we’d got there, she made us take one arm out of our sweatshirts so that she could then tie the sleeves together. We now sat like conjoined twins merged at the shoulder.
Any attempt to escape would have been fruitless. Apart from the need for Nick and me to move as one, there was also the stick stuck into the sand beside the camera. Plus, there was still her attitude: if anything, she looked even meaner than before — messing with her was not a sensible option.
Roost’s spray now appeared more urine-like than before, probably because an orange glow was radiating from the sky behind us.
‘What’s that stuff he’s spraying?’ asked Nick.
‘Shush! Keep you voices down,’ replied Brio. ‘We don’t want to scare the penguins.’
I looked up at Roost, who was noisily pumping the pressure tank. ‘And he’s not scaring them?’
‘He’ll be finished soon.’
‘What’s in it?’ repeated Nick.
‘Just something to make the leaves and flowers shine so that I can get a special photo.’
‘You’re doing all that to take a photo?’ said Nick.
She nodded.
‘Then why is he wearing a mask?’ I asked. ‘Is it poisonous?’
She gave a strange, little-girl giggle. ‘No,’ she said rolling her eyes. ‘Roost gets asthma. He’s allergic to almost everything. The respirator is for the pollen from the lupins.’ She went back to fiddling with the camera.
What she said made some sort of sense. And yet, why was he spraying an area wider than could fit into her photo. By then, Roost had finished pumping and was looking around deciding where to spray next. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper which he studied for a time. He walked into the lupins, consulting the paper along the way, until he got to what must have been the right place. Only then did he resume spra
ying.
Brio grunted and looked up to check our reaction. If Nick had noticed anything, he wasn’t showing it. I kept a passive face, as if I’d seen nothing either.
‘Why are we tied up?’ I asked.
Brio pointed at Nick. ‘So that he doesn’t go racing around the place the way he did the first time he came here. I want to get a great photo of a yellow-eyed penguin, and he would just spoil it.’
‘Why didn’t you want me taking photos?’ asked Nick.
‘I just said: I didn’t want you scaring the penguins.’
‘Taking a photo doesn’t make much noise,’ said Nick.
‘Look,’ she snarled, her head jerking around, ‘you need to shut up! I could get you into serious trouble. I could tell the TV people that you took those photos at Peco.’
‘You can’t prove that,’ I said.
‘Want to bet?’ she said, with a sneering smile. ‘Have you ever heard of embedded files?’ She glared at us. ‘No? I thought not. Well, that phone of yours not only saves the photos, it also embeds an EXIF file with details about the phone. If you know what you’re doing, it’s dead easy to identify the phone that took a photo.’ Her sneer broadened. ‘So don’t tell me I can’t prove it — because I can!’
We kept quiet, stunned by both what she’d said and the way she’d said it. After glaring at us for a few seconds more, she gave a grunt and returned to the camera.
Soon after that, Roost’s spray-pack began issuing a gurgling sound. He shut it off and walked up the rise towards us. That was when he saw Nick and me for the first time.
‘What are they doing here?’
‘Keep your voice down,’ she said. ‘They were snooping.’
‘They’ve watched everything?’
‘Shut up, Roost,’ she growled, ‘and get back to the van and clean up.’
‘Aren’t you coming, too?’
‘I’ve got a photo to take.’
He shook his head wildly. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’
