Please don’t worry. We are safe. Will be back.
Blacky was right. It wouldn’t work. But I felt better having done it. I hoped it wasn’t going to rain and wash the message away. Actually, I was hoping it wasn’t going to rain anyway. I was freezing as it was.
Blacky led the way out of the clearing. I glanced back. I could just make out the cabins, bathed in soft moonlight. They were solid, safe. Then the bush swallowed us and they were gone.
Within five minutes we were deep into the forest and the moon was hidden by overarching trees. The darkness was thick. It pressed on my eyes.
There was a torch among the survival gear, but Blacky wouldn’t let me turn it on.
‘If anyone back at the camp woke up, they’d be able to see the beam. We need to move in darkness for at least half an hour. You can use it then.’
It was the worst half-hour of my life and I’ve had a few bad ones in my time. Mainly involving Rose.
I couldn’t see a metre in front of me, even after my eyes had adjusted to the night. We moved slowly in single file. Blacky in the lead, then me and Dyl bringing up the rear. There was no path as far as I could tell. We picked our way through trees, occasionally tripping over fallen branches. But that wasn’t the scariest bit. Whenever we stopped, the bush was alive with rustles, scratches, sounds of unseen things moving all around. Once, something startled only a metre away to my right. A dark shape, a wedge of shadow among shadows, plunged into the bush with a crash that brought my stomach, my heart and most of my internal organs up into my throat.
Another reason to be grateful for the thermal underwear. They were so tight that if I did poop myself in terror, there was no chance anything nasty would slide down my trouser leg and deposit itself in my shoe.
Partly to mask the sounds of animals, I told Dyl what Blacky had said about the last Tasmanian tiger. I kept my voice down. I don’t know why, but there, in the heart of the bush, it felt like being in church.
‘Sick?’ whispered Dyl. ‘With what?’
Blacky chipped in.
‘According to Tess—’ ‘Tess?’ I said.
‘Tess, the Tassie tiger. She was walking through the bush when she caught a scent. Human scent. She froze in fear. The presence of humans does that to animals. When she turned her head, she saw the guy about twenty metres away. She ran but he followed. And then there was another human to her left trying to cut her off. Eventually, they backed her onto a small cliff. Her only chance of escape was to jump.’
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘She fell badly, broke a hind leg. But at least the men couldn’t get to her. Not without going a long way round. Tess took the opportunity to crawl away. Four or five kilometres in all. She found a place to hide. But those hunters will not give up. It’s been over a week. They’ll find her, if we don’t get to her first.’
I passed all this on to Dyl.
‘That’s so sad,’ he said. ‘If someone sees a Tassie tiger – the last tiger in the world – why would they hunt her down? Isn’t it enough just to have seen her?’
‘Apparently not,’ said Blacky. ‘I imagine there’s plenty of money to be made by catching the last tiger in the world. And fame, of course. You humans can’t resist fame and fortune. I just wonder what you’ll do when you’ve finished destroying the entire earth. You might be famous and rich. But that won’t make crops grow. Or bring back a single living thing you’ve destroyed.’
‘Not all humans are like that, Blacky,’ I said.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Not all. But – unfortunately for the future of the world – enough.’
I couldn’t argue with that.
‘So you want us to fix her broken leg? That’s the mission?’ I thought about it. I knew you had to do something with splints, keep the leg encased in a rigid structure until the bones healed properly. I just wasn’t sure I had the skill.
‘I can do that,’ said Dyl. I realised I had been talking out loud. ‘That’s part of the curriculum for the special boys unit. First aid. I’ve got a certificate.’
‘That was the mission,’ said Blacky. ‘But now it’s more complicated. We have more to worry about than a broken leg.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll see,’ Blacky said. ‘But time is running out. We must hurry.’
I pulled out the torch from my backpack.
‘Then a little light won’t hurt,’ I said.
I snapped the switch on the torch and a broad beam of light illuminated a huge tree.
And then it died.
The beam, not the tree. Though if it had, I wouldn’t have been able to see it.
I joggled the switch. I shook the torch. I bounced it a couple of times against the palm of my hand. Stop me if I’m getting too technical here. But whatever I did, the torch remained lifeless. It was a worry. If everything else in the pack was similarly made, my emergency supplies would probably be a few woodchips and matches made of asbestos. At least the tent worked. I knew that from considerable experience.
Dyl pulled his torch out. That didn’t work either.
‘Fabulous,’ I said. ‘About as much use as a chocolate teapot. Blacky, we might be in a rush, but until dawn arrives we are going to have to creep through this forest.’
‘Terrific, tosh,’ snorted Blacky. ‘What is it with humans and their senses? You couldn’t find your own bum in a darkroom if it had a bell on it. Deaf as rocks, a sense of smell as acute as the average refrigerator’s and blind as bats. Actually, that is a great insult to bats, who can navigate in total darkness on account of their use of sonar—’
‘Yeah, all right, Blacky,’ I replied. ‘At least we can see in colour, which dogs can’t.’
‘Oh yes. Very useful under these circumstances. Exactly what colour is the black all around you, then?’
I sighed.
‘I’m just saying . . .’
‘Hang on!’
There was silence, broken by a faint rustle in the bush off to my right. I could sense Blacky’s concentration. There was something out there. Something that he found very interesting.
‘What is it, Blacky?’ I whispered in my head. I have no idea why I was whispering in my head. It seemed a natural thing to do. ‘Is it dangerous?’
My head was full of images of powerful, sleek bodies moving purposefully through the night. Sharp, yellowed teeth. Razor-like claws. Padding towards us.
The silence stretched.
‘Stay here,’ hissed Blacky eventually. ‘I need to investigate. Don’t move a step.’
And he was gone.
‘BLACKY!’ I yelled. ‘What is it? Where are you?’
But there was no reply. The skittering in the undergrowth was louder now. And getting closer. I stretched out my hand and touched Dyl on the arm. It was comforting to make contact with someone who didn’t understand the concept of fear. Not that that would prevent him from being ripped to pieces, I reminded myself. He’d just be cool about it. I, on the other hand, would fill my thermal underwear.
‘What’s happening, Marc?’ said Dyl.
I explained that Blacky had gone to investigate something urgent.
‘It’s getting lighter, mate.’
He was right. The darkness was patched with grey. I could still see nothing. But I could see slightly more nothing than before. It was a relief. I was hungry, tired, cold and wet with morning dew. I could do without the additional blindness.
So when Dylan took a step backwards, I didn’t exactly see him, unless you count the shift and blur of a wedge of darkness across my eyes. It was more sensing it. What I didn’t have to sense was his cry of alarm and his hand slipping across the fabric of my jacket. I tried to grab him but it was too late. Without thinking, I took a step towards where he had been.
Something slipped and gave under my shoes. I wind–milled backwards, tried to keep my balance. But the ground dissolved beneath me. I felt a small rush of soil and stones under my footing and then nothing.
I fell.
In an emergency, I suppose the body does things without being conscious of it.
I twisted and flung my hands forwards, scrabbled at the ground. For a moment, my fingers dug in and I hung precariously over the unseen drop. Then the soil shifted and sieved through my grasp. Centimetre by centimetre, I slipped further over the edge.
For all I knew, the drop beneath me was less than a metre. Maybe I’d fall, yelling and shrieking, for a tenth of a second. Land on Dyl. But it felt as though I was on the edge of the world. Somehow I knew that if I fell, my plunge would last forever.
I’ve heard that, on the point of death, people become calm, accepting of their fate.
It’s not true.
Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, despite the bitter cold. They ran into my eyes and stung. My arms were on fire and my fingers, hard as steel, were digging, digging, slipping. My life did not flash before my eyes. Just as well. Most of it had involved being tortured by Rose and I certainly didn’t want the last thing I’d ever see to be her ugly mug.
I could feel the strength draining from me. My fingers uncurling. Slowly. I shifted another centimetre. I had only seconds left.
A hand grasped my wrist just as my fingers clutched at thin air. I didn’t stop to wonder. I kicked my feet in front of me, found a solid surface, scrabbled to gain a foothold. Whoever had hold of me strained to take my weight, pull me up.
It was still progress that could be measured in centimetres, but this time I was heading in the right direction.
Finally, I managed to hook my elbows over the edge of the drop and squirm my way to safety. When I stood my legs felt as if they were made of rubber. I nearly collapsed. And not just because of fear. It was getting lighter by the second and I could make out the identity of my rescuer.
John Oakman towered over me.
I had questions, but they could wait.
I flung myself on my belly and yelled out over the drop. Despite the brightening dawn, I couldn’t see anything.
‘Dyl!’ I screamed.
There was silence for a heartbeat or two. All I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears and the faint echo of my voice mocking me. Then the sound came. Faint.
‘Yo, Marc! What’s going down, dude?’
You, apparently, I thought. I almost said it as well, the relief was so great.
‘Where are you, Dyl? I can’t see anything.’
‘Me neither, mate. As far as I can tell, I’m floating.’
Floating? He must have been hysterical.
‘Don’t worry, Dyl,’ I shouted. ‘Help is on its way.’
‘I’m not worried, Marc,’ came the reply. ‘It’s kinda cool floating here. Take your time.’
I hadn’t quite worked out what help I was talking about, let alone how it was on its way, but I thought it important to keep his spirits up. Not that Dylan’s spirits ever get down. Not even when he does a plunge over a cliff face. The only good thing, apart from the fact he was obviously still alive, was that the light was growing stronger. It would only be a matter of minutes before I could see where he was and assess the situation better.
In the meantime I found a rock and tossed it over the edge. I was careful to throw it well away from Dyl’s voice. He wouldn’t be too happy to be brained with a large rock. Though, with Dyl, you could never be sure about stuff like that. I listened for the sound of the rock hitting the bottom. Nothing. This was not a good sign.
I waited. John Oakman lay by my side and we both peered into darkness. Until Dyl was safe I didn’t want to talk, but the silence was unsettling. My nerves were shot. So I figured this was a good time to get an answer or two. A conversation would help the minutes tick away.
‘John, what the hell are you doing here?’
‘Saw you leave, Mucus. Followed.’
As always, John dished out words as if they were in short supply and likely to run out at any moment. He spat each one out. Cold and hard, like marbles.
‘Why?’
‘You. Can’t escape me.’
It was testimony to John’s hatred that he was prepared to get up in the middle of a freezing cold night and track me through a hostile forest in the pitch dark. It couldn’t have been easy following us. Then I spotted the flaw. ‘So why did you rescue me then, John?’
He mulled this one over. It was as though I’d asked him to explain Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. Most questions are tricky for John. Asking him his name is liable to short-circuit a few neural synapses and cause smoke to issue from his ears.
‘You. Don’t escape that easy,’ he said, just when I was beginning to give up hope of an answer.
Easy? I shuddered to think what he had in mind, if hurling yourself off a cliff was too simple.
Luckily, I didn’t have time to consider the implications. The gloom had cleared and I could see what we had to deal with. To be honest, when I could see, I wished I couldn’t.
Firstly, the drop wasn’t a metre. More like two hundred. Far beneath, a river wound its slow course through the bottom of a gorge. If John hadn’t grabbed me . . .
The second reason was Dyl. He’d fallen about ten metres. Straight onto a gnarled tree that had managed to attach roots to the sides of the gorge. The top strap on his backpack had miraculously become entangled in the branches. No wonder he felt like he was floating. He swung gently over the drop like some kind of peculiar fruit. He had his arms stretched out as if flying. In one hand was an open can of cola.
My relief that he was alive turned to despair. How were we going to get him out of that tree without sending him to certain death? Then I heard a ripping sound. Dyl must have been travelling fast when he hit the tree, because the stitching on the strap was coming apart. Even as I watched, a piece of canvas unpeeled from its seam and he sagged a few more centimetres.
‘Far out,’ yelled Dyl. ‘This is mad fun.’
Two kids. No equipment. No time to get help. The only thing I agreed with was the ‘mad’ part.
I turned my face towards John. He could probably read the horror in it, but I didn’t care.
John jumped to his feet and dug his hand down into his pocket. He unravelled a spool of white material from its depths and started paying it out. I watched. It seemed to be cord of some kind. Thin cord.
‘John,’ I said. ‘If you’re thinking of rescuing Dyl with that, you can forget it.’ It would be like winding a length of string around an elephant and trying to use it as a yoyo.
‘Parachute cord,’ he said. ‘Strong.’
I wondered why John would be carrying parachute cord around with him. Then I remembered his career ambition and figured he kept it on him to experiment with. Whatever, I was grateful. If he ever needed a referee in his application for Official Hangman of Australia, I’d be happy to oblige.
John tied one end round a sturdy tree trunk and let the other end out over the edge of the cliff until it dangled in front of Dyl’s face. Even as Dyl reached to grab it, the seam on his backpack split a little further. John gave clipped instructions on how to tie the cord around his waist, using a secure knot. Dyl had no sooner done so than the seam finally gave way and the strap ripped loose.
I watched, frozen in horror, as Dyl slammed into the cliff face.
The torn backpack rocked in the branches for a couple of seconds before fluttering down into the gorge. I watched it, a strange denim butterfly, until it shrank to a dot and disappeared.
John and I snapped out of our trance at the same time, rushed back to the tree and started pulling on the cord. I found it hard to believe that something as slender and fragile-looking as cotton could take his weight. It was difficult to get a grip, and it bit into our palms. But Dyl was obviously finding handholds and footholds on the cliff face, because we managed to pull up the cord, metre after slow metre. I have never felt so relieved as when Dyl’s hands finally popped over the edge of the cliff, followed quickly by his face. He was grinning.
He flopped onto safety. John and I dragged him a few metres away from the drop. We l
ay, panting and exhausted, for a few moments.
‘Let’s do it again,’ said Dyl.
I was about to throttle him with my bare hands. If he wanted another near-death experience I was just in the mood to oblige. But I didn’t get the chance. A voice boomed in my head.
‘Oi, mush! If you’ve quite finished having a rest, we need to get on. I dunno! Humans. Always thinking of your comfort. And who’s the beanpole twonk?’
I struggled to my feet. Blacky stood in front of me.
And then the smell hit.
I staggered back a couple of paces, nearly went for another double twist with pike off the edge of the cliff, and stopped myself just in time.
Though the stench was so bad, maybe I should have gone for it.
‘Blacky!’ I yelled. ‘That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever smelled. And I’ve spent considerable time in your company, remember.’
‘Thanks, tosh. It’s a good one, isn’t it? Rotting wallaby carcass. Soon as I smelled it, I knew I had to have it. Nearly as good as that fruit bat in Queensland. The combination of maggots and decomposition . . .’
I held up my hand.
‘Way too much information, Blacky,’ I said. ‘And let me get this right. You took off, not because there was an emergency, but because you wanted to roll in something dead?’
‘It was an emergency, mush. It was like winning the lotto. No dog could pass up that chance. Anyway, we weren’t going anywhere, because you couldn’t see. Remember?’
‘Blacky, bucko, we fell off this cliff! While you were getting yourself a makeover, me and Dyl nearly died!’
Blacky trotted over to the edge and gazed down.
‘I told you not to move a step, tosh. What part of “don’t move” did you have trouble understanding? Sorry, mush. Not my fault you have the intellect of an earthworm and can’t follow simple instructions.’
I was really tempted to give him a toe-end over the cliff. My foot twitched.
Blacky cocked his head.
‘And you haven’t answered my question. Who’s the long and ugly streak of pee?’
Blacky Blasts Back Page 7
