by Des Hunt
Then, as Tom was thinking this, the man groaned. His eyes opened and his head turned.
“Tom?” he croaked.
“Yes it’s me,” replied Tom.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to get Spot.”
Davidson processed this. “So did I,” he said. “So did I.
“Did you find him?”
“Sort of.” His head turned to the seat alongside where a metal aerial lay. “That thing did.”
“Where?” asked Tom.
But Mike’s eyes had closed. The man had blacked-out again.
For a time Tom experienced a surge of panic that blocked out all sensible thoughts. He walked around in circles beside the ute, his head waving from side to side, arms dangling uselessly. “What to do? What to do? What to do?” he repeated over and over. Nothing had prepared him for a situation like this.
Eventually it was Buffy who brought him back to his senses. She stood glaring at him, barking noisily until he stopped pacing.
“What?” he asked glaring back.
Her reply was a softer bark as she turned and trotted back to the dead dog.
Tom followed. “Yes, he’s dead. I can’t do anything about that. I’ve got to work out what to do about Mike.”
Buffy began nuzzling her dead pack companion, whimpering quietly. That’s when Tom remembered the transmitter. This time he did turn it off. That would help radio communications a bit. But the one on Spot would still be causing problems. Should he find Spot and turn off the collar, or should he go get help for Mike.
He turned to the dog. “What should I do, Buffy?”
Her answer was a gentle woof.
“That’s no help,” he said.
He tried to think it through. The logging site was the closest place. Would it have a first-aid kit? Yes, it was sure to have one. If he went there somebody could come and deal with Mike, while he and Buffy found Spot, and turned off the transmitter. Then an ambulance could be called.
“Yes, that will work.”
Another woof.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. How will they find Mike?”
A louder bark.
“Noise! That’s how. Thanks, Buffy.”
He rushed to the ute and fished around in the rubbish on the floor. Mike had said he had lots of bungees, was there one here?
There wasn’t, but there was one on the back. It took a while to get it tied tightly around the steering wheel. Then, all he had to do was jam a block of wood under it, and the horn was blasting.
Mike stirred at the noise without opening his eyes.
Encouraged by the signs of life, Tom turned to the dog. “Okay Buffy. Let’s save this man. It’s time to go find some help.”
Chapter 15
The amount of debris on the forestry road had thickened in the time Tom had been at the ute, with still more falling. So much rubbish was catching in the spokes that, after a couple of minutes riding, he abandoned the bike and began running. Although he had to jump and dodge a lot, the going was faster and soon they were at a T-junction with the main forest track.
He stopped to check if the horn from the ute was still blasting. It was barely audible, fading in and out against the roar of the storm raging in the treetops. They moved on, heading left towards the logging site.
At the top of the first rise, Tom paused again to listen for the horn. That’s when he heard a truck further ahead, grinding its way up a hill. From the growl of the engine it was fully loaded with logs, which meant it was coming his way, and soon he’d have to get off the road to let it pass.
He was about to resume running when he had another thought. Maybe the driver could help Mike. Were they trained in first aid? He’d have to stop the truck and ask. But where should he do that? Not on an upward slope, because the truck would never take off again. Downwards wouldn’t work either as the driver would be trying to pick up speed for the next hill. The top of the hill would be the best place. He decided to stay put and let the truck come to him.
Tom and Buffy took shelter against the trunk of a pine tree. The rain was even heavier than before with water pouring off the slopes to form streams down the wheel tracks of the road, washing away most of the debris.
Minutes passed as the truck continued climbing the hill. Then the growl lowered in pitch, and got louder when it reached the top. Scanning through the trees, Tom was relieved to see the glow of headlights, confirming it was heading his way. Another couple of minutes and it would be alongside.
The noise from the truck changed to the ripping sound of exhaust braking as it headed downhill. Then came other noises, crashing, trees being broken, metal being scraped. The braking ceased, the engine roared, then died completely, until there was only the howling storm.
“Come on, Buffy. We’ve got to go,” cried Tom.
At the start he raced down the slope, his heart pounding faster than his legs. But he soon had to slow or he too would crash as his feet slipped and slid in the mud formed by the streams. At the bottom, the water had pooled forming a pond filled with debris from the trees. Buffy was through in a shot, racing up the other side. Tom was slower, aware he’d be no use to anybody if he also became a casualty.
The crash scene was not as bad as he’d imagined. The tractor unit was mostly still on the road, except it was leaning against the branches of a couple of trees. The passenger side of the cab had been crushed during the impact. The driver’s side was fine, with the driver still seated behind the wheel staring down at Tom. At the rear, the trailer had skidded and jack-knifed, coming to rest with the back set of wheels hanging over the drop on the other side of the road. The logs had shifted but were still in place. Although everything seemed stable for the moment, anything could happen if more water came down the road.
Tom climbed onto the step, and opened the driver’s door.
“You okay?”
The man gave a weak nod. “Yeah, mostly.”
“Do you want a hand to get out?”
“Nah, I’ll be all right.” The man gave a big sigh and straightened up.
Tom stepped down so the man could get out.
After he’d done a few stretches to check everything still worked he turned to Tom and asked, “Who are you, anyway?”
Tom introduced himself.
“Hi Tom, I’m Jay. What are you doing in here?”
Tom explained about the ute crashing, finishing with, “Do you have a first-aid kit?”
“Yeah. I’m trained.” Jay climbed back into the cab, found the kit, and handed it down. “I better call this in before we leave. That’s if the radio’s working.”
Tom waited, hoping the collar he’d turned off might have made a difference. A minute later, Jay’s swearing from the cab told him it hadn’t.
Jay climbed down. “Something’s stuffing up the radio.”
“I can fix that,” said Tom. “I know what’s causing it.”
Jay stared at him. “Tell me.”
Tom told him about the illegal collars.
“Mike Davidson, eh?” said Jay at the end. “I’ve not met him, but I’ve heard of him. Nothing much that was good.” He thought for a while. “So you reckon you can find this dog and turn off the collar?” A nod. “How?”
Tom pointed down to Buffy. “Using her. I think she can track him.”
Jay climbed back into the cab again. When he reappeared he was carrying the radio unit. “Just as well these come out easily. You turn off that collar and I’ll be able to call help.” He paused. “I hope.” He fiddled with the unit. “Yep, the emergency battery’s okay.” He turned and surveyed the scene, shaking his head. “There’s nothing we can do here without help. C’mon, let’s go.”
* * *
At the T junction they parted, Jay to follow the sound of the horn which was still blasting, and Tom to follow Buffy who wanted to head along the main track towards town. Hopefully she was tracking Spot.
All was well for a few minutes with Buffy trotting along nose to the ground.
Then she stopped, unsure of where to go.
“Come on, Buffy,” encouraged Tom. “Find Spot. Where’s Spot.”
In answer she moved into the forest following some sort of trail. Apparently that went nowhere, because she returned and headed in another direction. Tom was beginning to wonder if Spot’s scent had been washed away by the rain when, suddenly, she made up her mind and took off so fast that she was soon out of view.
“Wait!” shouted Tom as he headed in the same direction. “Buffy, wait!”
She did. From there on she moved quickly, while checking every few metres that Tom was still following.
They were moving through mature forest that would soon be harvested. The undergrowth had been undisturbed for almost 30 years allowing ponga ferns to grow taller than Tom. In places the ground was completely covered with shrubs. There were tracks of a sort, although far too small for a human. Tom wondered if they’d been made by pigs. Was that what Buffy was following? A pig track? After all, she was a pig dog.
The further they went, the more Tom became sure they were on the wrong track. But what else could he do except follow.
On and on they trekked, Buffy sure about where she was going, Tom increasingly doubtful. When they moved into an area which had been dug up by pigs, his confidence hit rock bottom. This was an absolute waste of time.
Buffy sniffed around the area for a while, looking up at Tom as if expecting him to be pleased.
He wasn’t. “No Buffy,” he growled. “Find Spot!”
In answer she raised her nose to the air, sniffing noisily.
“Yes Buffy. Get Spot!” encouraged Tom. “Go! Go! Find him!”
Buffy took off. This time there was no pausing to make sure Tom was keeping up, she pushed through the undergrowth leaving him to scramble as fast as he could. Fortunately the race didn’t last long before she moved into a clearing and there, at the edge was Spot, his nose deep into a burrow, his paws frantically digging trying to make the hole bigger.
“Aargh!” yelled Tom long and loud as he raced at the dog, his arms stretching out to grab him by the collar.
He managed to get one hand on it, before Spot reacted. The dog’s head whipped around, ripping the collar out of Tom’s fingers. The jaw opened, thrusting forward. Tom backed away, his eyes wide with fright. Never before had he seen a dog this mad.
With several metres between them, boy and dog faced each other, Tom breathing heavily, the dog snarling through bared teeth. That’s when Buffy decided to get involved, creeping forward, barking noisily.
Spot turned away, unable to maintain eye contact.
“Wait, Buffy,” said Tom. The last thing he wanted was for Spot to be scared off. That dog had to be caught.
Buffy and Tom stood, waiting to see what Spot would do next. He returned to digging up the burrow.
Tom stepped closer. “No Spot. No! Leave!” When that had no effect, he took another step forward, and another. Now he was close enough to touch the dog, but he held back, unwilling to risk another attack. Again he yelled, and again Spot kept digging. So frantic was the action that steam was rising from the dog’s neck.
No! That wasn’t right. Not from his neck. This was coming from the collar. Water had got into the battery. The thing was about to explode. He needed to try something different.
“Help me, Buffy,” he cried. “Grab him! Hold Spot!”
Buffy moved closer, unsure of what was expected of her. Tom took a collar and lead out of his pockets, clipped them together, and mimed putting it on Spot. Buffy moved forward.
By then steam was jetting out of the tracking collar. Spot must have felt the heat for he pulled his head out of the hole and shook it. Tom leapt onto his back, reaching forward with the lead, hoping to get it in place while Spot was distracted. He got it around the neck before the dog reacted, but it was still not tight enough. Spot was writhing so much, trying to get his teeth at Tom, that it was near impossible to stay on his back. This wasn’t going to work.
That’s when Buffy joined in. She leapt forward, grabbed Spot by an ear and held him, much the same as she would hold a pig during a hunt.
That was all it took. Tom got the collar in place. Now he had to remove the transmitter.
“Keep holding him, Buffy,” Tom cried, as his fingers fumbled with the buckle. And then he was screaming as flames spurted out of the battery alongside his bare left arm. He pulled back with so much force that, miraculously, the buckle came free. Still screaming with pain, Tom ripped the burning transmitter off and threw it as far away as he could.
Yet, even with that out of the way, Spot couldn’t be released. He needed to be tied up. Working together, Tom and Buffy hauled him to a broken branch lying nearby. Tying the end of the lead to the branch was not easy with Tom’s left arm near useless with pain. Even when he’d finished Tom wasn’t sure it would hold if the dog really wanted to go, but he’d had enough. He collapsed to lie flat on the ground.
Buffy also released her hold, but instead of lying down to recover, she stood over Tom, barking frantically.
“What is it, Buffy?” he asked without opening his eyes. A paw scraped over his chest. This time he sat up. “Yes, what is it?”
Buffy was staring over top of him to where he’d thrown the transmitter. Pine needles were burning. Tom let out a cry of anguish. Now he had to put out a fire.
However, when he got to the flames, he found the fire was mostly dying by itself. The intense heat of the burning battery had reached down through the moist needles to set fire to the dry underlayer. With the fuel from the battery gone, the needles were now smouldering rather than burning.
Two minutes of stamping around with his feet had it under control. Although smoke and steam were still rising, Tom was confident that the pouring rain would eventually put it all out. For him, the emergency was pretty much over. Sure, he still had to make his way back to the main track, but for now he would sit down and take a rest – his first in the last three hours.
Chapter 16
Time passed without Tom really noticing, as he sat in the forest recovering. He’d found a place where water had pooled, unable to soak into the dry soil. With his burnt forearm resting in that, he felt little pain unless he moved – another reason for not getting up and leaving.
At the start Buffy had sat staring at him, trying to force him into action. When this didn’t work she moved off to explore their surroundings. Spot was crouched down looking sad for himself, knowing he was in deep trouble, waiting for the punishment to come.
Tom must have dozed off, because when Buffy began barking he came to with a jump. She was standing, staring down into the burrow where Spot had been digging.
Oh no, not you too.
“Out of there, Buffy. Leave.”
Buffy moved back a little before crouching down, whining noisily while still staring at the burrow.
“What is it?” said Tom, climbing painfully to his feet. “Can you see the kiwi? Is that what it is?”
It was, and when Tom peered down the hole he could see it too. What he also saw was that its breast feathers were stuck together with blood – Spot’s teeth or claws had made contact with the bird.
Tom had to lie on the ground to reach it, and even then he couldn’t get two hands under the body. By feeling around he got hold of a leg and pulled. The kiwi fought but somehow that made it easier, and soon he had the bird on the surface.
Spot barked when he saw it, pulling on the lead until he had the branch moving. “No!” shouted Tom. “You’ve done enough damage.” Still Spot kept pulling, until Buffy turned and snarled at him. Then he backed away a little.
Examining the kiwi, Tom found a single gash on the breast that had ripped back the skin, exposing the flesh. With treatment the bird might survive; without, it was sure to die. But Tom had no idea where they were, so how could he guide Sally Page or any other rescuer to this place? Leaving the kiwi here wasn’t an option, he’d have to carry it out, and that posed a problem. With his injured arm there
was no way he could carry the bird, and control Spot on a lead at the same time.
The solution was to connect the end of Spot’s lead to Buffy’s collar. At first Spot pulled on the lead trying to get free, but a couple of snarls from Buffy soon had him under control. With them settled, Tom folded the bottom of his jacket up over the kiwi, and instructed Buffy to find the main track. If he could make it there, then help shouldn’t be far away.
* * *
The trip out seemed to take forever. Going in, Tom had been spurred on by the need to find Spot. Now, there was not the same urgency, plus he was exhausted. So much so, that a couple of times, he stopped to lean against a tree trunk, not sure he could go any further. It was Buffy who got him going again. She seemed to have taken on responsibility for everyone – Spot, the kiwi, and especially Tom. With each step, the bond between dog and boy grew stronger.
During the trek, the storm passed its peak, allowing other sounds to be heard. A few birds ventured out and began calling in the late afternoon. Then came the sound of a siren, and Tom knew they were close to the main track. A few minutes later they pushed through the undergrowth onto the firebreak alongside the road. The source of the siren had passed by, but that didn’t worry Tom – it would have to come back the same way, at some stage. He sat down to wait.
* * *
Help, when it did arrive, came without sirens or flashing lights. That made no difference to Tom, who wouldn’t have heard or seen them anyway. He’d passed out, his body toppled over onto the road, arms still embracing the kiwi. Buffy was standing guard with Spot crouched down as far from the others as the lead would allow.
Fortunately Marika Greenwell was wide awake, excited about the story she was chasing. When the lights of her SUV picked out the group on the road she slowed to a stop and turned on the emergency warning lights. Buffy was at the door before she had it fully open.
“Hello Buffy. Is he all right?”
In answer Buffy led the way over to Tom who was still unconscious.
