The Fighting Stingrays

by Simon Mitchell

  ‘I reckon we’re right,’ he called over the downpour as Alf’s and Masa’s heads emerged from the seaweed. ‘They won’t spot us through all this rain, anyway.’

  They were now well out of the cluster of islands that included TI. There was another clap of thunder nearby and Charlie chewed his lip – a tiny dinghy at sea was not a good place to be during a storm.

  ‘That’s south,’ he said, squinting at the compass. ‘If we keep rowing that way we should make it to the mainland eventually.’

  ‘If I keep rowing, you mean,’ muttered Alf, picking up the oars again.

  Charlie and Masa heaved the masses of seaweed back into the water, then set to work bailing rainwater out of the boat with a couple of small containers that were banging around at the stern end. No sooner had they got it down to toe level than a flash of lightning turned night into day and a massive boom of thunder made them all duck. The rain tripled in ferocity, going from a monsoonal downpour to something resembling a vertical flood. Masa yelled in surprise and Charlie winced – the drops were coming so hard and fast they felt like rocks smacking him in the face.

  And then the storm was upon them. Wind howled around the boat, sending the rain swirling in all directions. The waves grew taller, stretching up like hills topped with sinister white crests. Alf stopped trying to keep the dinghy pointing south and worked on making sure it met the waves front-first – if a big one caught them from the side it could flip the boat over like a fried egg.

  The swells rose even higher, and Charlie groaned as the boat was lifted up each watery wall. There was a stomach-twisting moment at the top of every wave when it felt like they were floating in midair, just before the dinghy hurtled down the back like an out-of-control bicycle down Milman Hill.

  ‘Hang on, Judy!’ cried Masa, lashing the army backpack to one of the plank seats running across the boat.

  Charlie and Masa went back to bailing water, but between the torrents of rain and the waves crashing over the side it was a losing battle.

  ‘Faster, Masa!’ Charlie called as the dinghy settled lower into the water.

  ‘I’m going as fast as I can!’ yelled Masa, bailing madly as thunder cracked and electricity lit up the sky. Then he dropped his bucket and stared past Alf’s head, his mouth falling open in horror. ‘Oh strewth,’ he said.

  Charlie turned as a streak of lightning revealed a horrifying sight – the next wave was absolutely monstrous. The great black mountain of water rose up ahead of them, higher than a house, with a face that was almost straight up and down.

  ‘Hold fast!’ Charlie shouted.

  He pressed himself against the floor, bracing his legs under one of the seats. Masa wedged himself into the bow, grabbing the mooring rope with both hands. Only Alf stayed where he was, glancing over his shoulder and pulling the boat through the boiling ocean, straight towards the mass of oncoming water.

  ‘Alf, get down!’ yelled Charlie, gripping the side of the wooden dinghy so hard his knuckles hurt.

  Alf shook his head. ‘I’m not afraid of a bit of water,’ he cried over the storm.

  ‘Alf, come on,’ pleaded Masa. ‘You’ll die!’

  But Alf just cackled as the wall seethed above them. ‘Come on, wave,’ he screamed. ‘Do your worst!’

  Charlie braced himself as the wave took them. The little boat rose smoothly at first, tilting backwards and sending the water in the bottom of the dinghy all over Charlie. Alf whooped with excitement as the boat pitched nearly vertically, and a sheet of lightning showed that they had almost reached the wave’s peak.

  But just as their bow was about to break through the white crest, the wave reared up and began curling over on top of them. Alf dropped the oars and made a grab for his seat, but it was too late – the dinghy tipped sharply and he tumbled out and down the face of the wave, grasping at air. Charlie could only watch as Alf disappeared beneath the heaving water without so much as a splash.

  ‘Help!’ cried Masa, still clutching the rope. He reached out to steady Judy’s backpack and lost his grip on the line. He plummeted straight down, eyes wide with panic as he hit the ocean and vanished from sight.

  Charlie held on for a split second longer. But then the wave simply tossed the dinghy into the air like a sweet wrapper, hurling him out into the dark emptiness. For a moment he hovered in midair completely weightless, but then gravity took hold and pulled him into the churning sea.

  Charlie surfaced and drew an enormous breath into his burning lungs. But the rain was coming down so hard it almost felt like he was still under water. He peered into the darkness. ‘Alf?’ He coughed. ‘Masa?’

  There was no answer.

  Charlie felt himself being lifted by another wave. He was treading water and battling to keep his head above the surface as the wave pulled him up its face then down the other side. He suddenly remembered how, a long time ago, his dad used to throw him into the air and catch him as Charlie laughed with delight. Why on earth was he thinking about that now?

  Lightning flashed overhead, and Charlie spotted the dinghy through the rain. It was floating upright only about twenty yards away, but the big waves were tossing it all over the place.

  Charlie struck blindly through the churning ocean. Just when he was sure he must have passed the dinghy, his hand thumped against solid wood. He gripped the side of the boat hard, catching his breath as the sea foamed around him.

  ‘Hello?’ he called into the storm. ‘Masa? Alf?’

  Still no answer. Charlie hoisted himself into the boat, holding on tightly as the next wave picked it up. But this swell didn’t have the force of the last few waves, and the dinghy slid smoothly across it. ‘Aaaalf!’ he called again. ‘Masaaaa!’

  There was silence. Then a voice came out of the night. ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Masa?’ Charlie’s voice cracked with relief. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said the voice. ‘But I can’t see a thing.’

  ‘Hold on!’ yelled Charlie. He crawled over to the army backpack that was still lashed to the boat. He reached into the front pocket, looking for their torch, and jumped as a ball of damp brown fur raced up his arm and sat quivering on his shoulder. He’d forgotten all about Judy in the excitement of the storm, but the waterproof bag had kept her safe and more or less dry.

  Charlie found the torch, switched it on and aimed it at Masa’s voice. ‘Can you see the light?’ he said.

  ‘I see it!’

  ‘Swim towards it.’

  Charlie kept the torch pointed into the darkness, calling Masa’s name every minute or so to make sure he was still alive. Meanwhile, the storm was slowly moving on – the time between each lightning bolt and thunderclap was stretching out, and the waves were no longer the height of buildings. Even the rain was starting to ease off when the torch beam picked up Masa swimming only a dozen yards away.

  ‘Over here!’ Charlie cried, waving both arms.

  ‘I see you,’ panted Masa.

  Charlie pulled Masa into the dinghy, slapping him on the back as he collapsed on the floor.

  ‘Judy!’ Masa gasped, as she leapt off Charlie’s shoulder and into Masa’s waiting arms. Then he gulped. ‘What about Alf?’

  Charlie didn’t say anything.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Masa.

  Cupping their hands around their mouths, they shouted Alf’s name and whistled. The storm drifted further away, the seas flattened out and it finally stopped raining. But Alf did not reply.

  ‘D’you think he’s –?’ said Masa, as the moon began peeking through the clouds.

  ‘Don’t even say it,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Not Alf,’ said Masa, trembling. ‘Not after my dad.’

  ‘Shut up!’ snapped Charlie. ‘Keep calling.’ He blinked back tears, hollering into the night until his throat was sore.

  And then, just when Charlie was ready to collapse into sobs, he heard a garbled cry. He aimed the torch towards the noise and caught a brief glimpse of Alf’s terrified face before it vanished be
neath the water.

  ‘He’s gone under!’ Charlie yelled, keeping his torch trained on the patch of ocean where Alf had appeared. ‘Quick, Masa, row!’

  Masa reached for the oars. ‘There’s only one left,’ he groaned. ‘The others must’ve fallen into the drink.’

  Charlie and Masa kneeled and tried paddling with their hands, but it was barely worth the effort. Alf surfaced again, spluttering and straining to keep his head above the waves.

  ‘Alf!’ yelled Charlie. ‘You need to swim to us!’

  Eyes wide, Alf began dog-paddling towards them, his face screwed up in agony. Soon he was close enough that they could hear him panting and gasping as he fought to stay afloat.

  ‘Just a few more yards,’ said Charlie.

  Finally Alf knocked against the wooden boat. He made a noise like a strangled seagull and raised one hand weakly towards them. ‘Help,’ he wheezed. ‘I can’t . . .’

  ‘Grab his other arm, Masa,’ said Charlie. The two of them gripped Alf’s thick arms, sending the dinghy tipping dangerously to one side. They leaned backwards and, inch by inch, pulled Alf into the boat. He slumped to the floor and lay flat on his back in the pool of water, staring straight up at the sky.

  ‘Crikey,’ he mumbled after a few minutes. ‘I thought I was done for there, but then I heard you jokers bleating away like a couple of billy goats.’

  Masa chuckled. ‘What’s it like being rescued by a pair of billy goats then?’ he said.

  ‘Not bad at all,’ said Alf hoarsely, closing his eyes.

  The Fighting Stingrays sat in silence as the wind dropped off to a warm breeze. Once Alf could talk properly, they took stock of their new situation. They’d lost one of the two backpacks in the storm, as well as their compass and all but one water bottle. And although the dinghy was still in good shape, one of their oars had indeed disappeared into the depths.

  ‘This isn’t good,’ said Alf, fiddling with the empty rowlock as Masa and Charlie bailed water with their hands. ‘With one oar and no compass, all we can do is row around in circles.’

  Charlie gazed across the water. The night was quite clear now, but the moonlight did not reveal the outline of any land. The storm must have blown them well away from TI, but he had no idea in which direction. And without oars, they had no control over where they would end up.

  He ground his teeth and knelt down to bail out another handful of water. The Fighting Stingrays might have survived Captain Maddox, but now they were completely at the mercy of the wind, waves and currents.

  They were nearly dry by the time the sun came up – the gleaming orb creeping over the horizon and turning the sea around them into a blanket of red and gold. Charlie had hoped the daylight might reveal land nearby, but there was nothing except ocean stretching all the way to the horizon.

  From the position of the sun, Charlie guessed their boat must be drifting pretty quickly north, directly away from the Australian mainland. He shivered – if the wind and currents kept on in this direction, they would eventually end up in New Guinea, whose dark jungles hid all sorts of dangers.

  At the back of the boat, Masa stirred. ‘Can we see the mainland yet?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ muttered Charlie. ‘And at this rate, we might never see it again.’

  Masa scratched his neck and yawned. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘What’s for brekkie?’

  As Alf snored peacefully in the bow, Charlie and Masa emptied out the remaining backpack. The waterproof bag had done its job, and they still had five tins of sardines, three cans of baked beans, a can opener, a small penknife, a quarter of a loaf of bread, five boxes of matches, a machete, a slingshot, a pair of field glasses and the crystal radio set.

  The scraping sound of a sardine tin being opened woke Alf instantly, and the three of them shared a sad little breakfast in the middle of the sea.

  ‘I wonder what Captain Maggots is doing right now,’ said Masa, pouring a bit of water into the empty tin for Judy to drink.

  ‘Probably looking for a puppy to kick,’ said Alf, chewing on a crust of bread.

  ‘Or shooting the petals off flowers,’ chuckled Masa.

  ‘Or spitting at a rainbow,’ added Charlie.

  ‘What about everyone else?’ said Masa. ‘What do you reckon they’re doing?’

  ‘I bet my brother’s squadron’s out bombing ships,’ said Alf. ‘Blowing ’em up like paw-paws on cracker night. Ka-boom!’

  ‘I reckon my auntie’s nagged at least ten guards to death at the camp,’ said Masa. ‘And Uncle Jiro’s got so crabby that he’s actually turned into a crab.’ He held his hands up in front of his face, snapping them like pincers.

  Charlie didn’t say anything. Had his parents even realised he’d gone? And if they had, did they care? His mother was probably delighted she didn’t have to put up with his noise before ten o’clock in the morning any more.

  Alf eyed the pile of supplies on deck. ‘Should we open one of those cans of beans?’ he asked.

  Charlie shook his head. ‘We don’t know how long we’ll be out here.’

  Masa snickered. ‘And there’s no boat in the world big enough to share with Alf after he’s been eating baked beans.’

  ‘You’re telling me!’ said Charlie. ‘Forget mines and bombers – we should send Alf out to meet the Japanese with a few tins of Heinz. He’d blow the whole fleet back to Tokyo.’

  Alf grinned and threw a sardine tin at Charlie. ‘You’ll be in the water if you don’t shut your gob.’

  They drifted for hours, until the sun was high in the sky and the humidity was sucking the sweat right out of them. The wind vanished completely by midday, and they had nowhere to escape the heat – except for Judy, who lay flat on her back with her pink paws in the air in the thin strip of shade under one of the seats. But the best the rest of them could do was soak their shirts in seawater and wrap them around their heads for a few minutes of coolness.

  They were all exhausted after the events of the previous night, so they took it in turns to sleep while one person stayed awake to keep an eye out for land. But the only things they saw apart from sea and sky were a few soaring seabirds and an ominous grey fin. The shark swam a couple of lazy circles around the boat before its fin vanished beneath the surface.

  ‘Are we going to die?’ said Masa, shaking their only water bottle over his mouth like a maraca to coax out the last drop.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Charlie. But secretly he was getting worried – they had enough food to last them a few days, but without water they were in a lot of trouble. And for the first time in weeks there didn’t seem to be any chance of rain – the sky above the Torres Strait was a perfect blue, without a wisp of cloud in sight.

  They stopped talking as the afternoon went on. Charlie kept watch while the others slept, propping his chin in one hand as he gazed over the side of the dinghy into the water below. His mouth felt like it was full of dry pebbles, and the heat made his eyelids as heavy as sandbags. He kept dozing off, even slipping into a strange dream about Captain Maddox wearing a diving suit and roaring that he could only find ‘filthy, traitorous Jap pearls’.

  Charlie’s eyes snapped open – he had to stay awake! Rubbing his face, he focused on a small, diamond-shaped stingray swimming alongside the boat. He smiled as the ray glided effortlessly through the water, flapping its fins like wings to propel itself along the edge of a shallow coral reef.

  Charlie stared at it blankly for a few seconds before his sleepy mind registered what he was seeing – a coral reef!

  He sat up so fast he nearly fell out of the boat. The dinghy was drifting sideways across the wide reef, and just beyond it were a calm lagoon and a small, emerald island ringed by white sand.

  ‘Land ahoy!’ he yelled.

  Alf leapt to his feet and Masa sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘Huh?’ he mumbled. His jaw dropped open as he spotted the island. ‘I must be dreaming.’

  ‘You’re not,’ said Charlie, clambering across him to grab the remaining oar. ‘Get pad
dling!’

  Charlie rowed the oar gently on one side of the boat as Alf and Masa hung over the other, paddling with their hands. It was not a successful manoeuvre. Their weight made the boat tip to one side, and their hand-paddling was fairly useless anyway. So instead of cruising smoothly onto the golden beach, the dinghy was snatched by a swift current and pulled straight towards the main part of the reef, where jagged pieces of coral peeked through the water.

  ‘Hard to starboard,’ Charlie yelled, lifting his oar out of the water.

  ‘What’s that mean?’ said Masa.

  ‘Go right, idiot!’

  But it was too late – the dinghy ran aground on the reef with a sickening crunch. Masa leapt out of the way as a saw-like shard of coral jutted through the wooden boards at the bottom of the boat, followed by a gush of seawater. Judy got swept up as the torrent swirled around the boat, frantically swimming to keep her furry head above water until Masa scooped her up.

  Charlie pushed the oar hard against the reef, but the dinghy didn’t budge. Alf took over, the oar bending with the strain as he tried to wrestle their boat free. The water was already above their ankles, and Masa knelt down to bail desperately with his hands.

  ‘Forget it,’ said Alf. ‘Everybody out.’

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Masa.

  ‘Abandon ship,’ said Alf.

  Masa peered into the water. ‘What if there’s a shark?’ he said.

  ‘Then he’s going to get a nice big meal, isn’t he, tubby? Out!’

  ‘It’s not deep,’ said Charlie, lowering himself onto a sandy patch in the chest-high water. Masa stashed Judy in her waterproof pocket and passed the backpack to Charlie, who held it above his head. Masa dropped into the clear water with a splash, and Alf gave a few more futile shoves with the oar before joining them.

  The boat was very low in the water now. Alf swam to the front of it and grabbed the frayed mooring rope, digging his heels into the sand and pulling the line like he was landing a 200-pound grouper. But between the sharp coral and the gallons of water that now filled the dinghy, he may as well have been trying to shift Ayers Rock.