Turtle Reef

by Jennifer Scoullar

  ‘Not me.’ Josh urged Aisha up the rainforest trail running along the river.

  ‘Josh! No!’ Zoe followed at a gallop. She had no choice, her horse had the bit between his teeth. A shiver of fear ran through her as Cobber hurtled up the narrow track, striving to catch up with the fleet-footed Arabian mare. His breath was laboured and his neck sleek with sweat before the path widened and Josh drew rein. Zoe almost fell off as Cobber stumbled to an abrupt halt. He took a few faltering steps and stopped again. Something was wrong.

  Josh swung from the saddle. ‘Get off,’ he said. ‘Hold Aisha.’

  Zoe dismounted. Josh picked up Cobber’s near forefoot, pulled a pocketknife from his belt and dug around in the hoof. ‘There.’ He held out a large, sharp stone. ‘Jammed in his foot.’

  ‘Will he be all right?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘Yeah, but you can’t ride him.’

  ‘How am I supposed to get back?’

  ‘Walk.’ Josh remounted Aisha.

  ‘Well, of all the . . .’ Zoe took a deep breath. Josh wasn’t like other kids. How could she blame him for being impulsive? ‘You shouldn’t have galloped off like that.’

  Josh shrugged. ‘Sorry.’ That, at least, was something.

  Aisha whinnied and Cobber pricked his ears. Two riders were bearing down on them, a man and a woman, mounted on a pair of chestnut thoroughbreds. Josh looked at her with alarm. What to do? Cobber couldn’t outrun them, but Aisha could. ‘Go home,’ said Zoe. ‘Make it fast and take Captain with you.’ Locals would be bound to recognise the dog. ‘I’ll stall them.’

  Josh didn’t hesitate. He took off at a gallop with Captain at his heels. Zoe waved goodbye and started after him on foot, leading a limping Cobber who was looking very sorry for himself. In a few minutes the riders, a middle-aged couple, were upon her.

  ‘Trouble?’ asked the woman.

  ‘Nothing serious,’ said Zoe. ‘My horse got a stone in his hoof.’

  ‘Bad luck.’ The man came alongside and extended his hand. ‘Ed Owen, and this is my wife, Nancy. We grow macadamias at Tamborine Creek on the southern slope of the Hump.’ Zoe reached up, shook his hand and introduced herself. ‘That’s Quinn Cooper’s bay, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Zoe. ‘Cobber.’

  ‘So you’re the dolphin lady from Sydney who’s staying at Swallowdale?’

  ‘That’s right.’ The bush telegraph worked efficiently in Kiawa.

  ‘What’s up with your friend?’ asked Nancy. ‘It wasn’t very nice to take off and leave you like that.’

  ‘I told him to go,’ said Zoe. ‘He . . . had to be somewhere.’

  ‘That was a good horse he was riding,’ said Ed. ‘One of Quinn’s, is it?’

  ‘Aah . . . no, I don’t think so.’ Zoe felt herself go red in the face. Why did she have to be such a terrible liar?

  The couple exchanged glances. ‘Come on,’ said Ed. ‘I’ll double-bunk you on my horse and Nancy can lead Cobber. You’ll get wet otherwise.’

  Wet? She glanced skyward. Black clouds were scudding in from the northeast. ‘Thanks, but no,’ said Zoe. ‘I feel like walking.’

  ‘You sure? Have you got a phone?’

  ‘Yes.’ Zoe took it from her pocket. ‘But I don’t have reception.’

  Ed pulled out his own phone. He looked at it, frowned and then shook it as if that might somehow help. ‘We must be in a dead spot.’

  Nancy pointed to the tall radio tower on top of the Hump. ‘They built that thing five years ago. Said it would “transform communications” in Kiawa.’

  Ed laughed and slapped his thigh. ‘It did,’ he said. ‘It made things worse.’

  ‘Would you like us to let somebody know what’s happened to you?’ asked Nancy.

  ‘No thanks,’ said Zoe. ‘Really, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Ed tipped his hat, they said their goodbyes and the riders headed off at a brisk canter. Were they hoping to catch up to Josh? Bugger. The pair were suspicious, or at the very least curious. Josh better hurry.

  Zoe started walking. Amazing, how long it took to go somewhere on foot. That wild twenty-minute gallop was translating into a very long trudge home. Cobber didn’t help. Every few minutes he stopped, held his leg up pathetically and refused to move. Not knowing how badly injured he was, Zoe was loath to force the issue. He could be in a lot of pain. Not enough to take away his appetite, though. He jerked the reins from her hand and ate furiously whenever they came across a patch of fresh juicy grass.

  After half an hour or so, Cobber wasn’t the only one limping. The riding boots she’d purchased last week at the local produce store weren’t broken in properly and she could feel the blisters forming. Well, it wasn’t like she’d expected to go hiking in the damn things.

  The sky darkened and darkened again. Fat plopping drops turned into a downpour. What a miserable trek home. So much for ‘Queensland – beautiful one day, perfect the next.’ It never seemed to stop raining. Zoe distracted herself by trying to track the other riders before their trail was washed away. It was well-nigh impossible on rocky ground, but in other places hoof prints lay deep and clear in the wet, red earth. Cobber’s tracks were easy to pick. After all, his feet were right there for comparison – broad, round and plate-like. Some of the prints showed distinct semicircles that had her tricked for a bit. Of course, horse shoes. The chestnuts were shod. That made it simple. It meant the remaining prints belonged to Aisha.

  Zoe hoped the shod hoof prints would veer off at some point, follow another path intersecting the bush track. No such luck. Two hours later when she finally reached the river, all three sets of prints turned through the open gate and down Swallowdale’s rainforest trail. Damn. She sat on the historic stone wall for a few minutes, resting her aching feet. Then she went on with a sinking heart.

  The couple had ridden along the river and followed Josh through the cane fields towards the stables. Cobber stopped again. She tugged at the reins. ‘Come on. Not long now.’ Together they hobbled up the track. It was encouraging that two sets of shod hoof prints did lead back down again. It meant, at least, that Ed and Nancy weren’t waiting at the stables for a chat.

  But somebody was waiting in the stable yard when she arrived. Bridget.

  ‘I’ve been trying to reach you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Zoe. ‘You know what phone reception is like around here.’

  ‘What’s happened to Cobber?’

  ‘He bruised his foot on a stone.’

  Bridget stepped forwards and examined him. ‘It doesn’t look too bad.’ She looked around her. ‘Did you go riding by yourself.’

  ‘Yes —’ started Zoe. She followed Bridget’s downward gaze. Shit. The ground was churned up with multiple sets of hoof prints. ‘But I did meet Ed and Nancy Owen when I was walking home. They were riding a gorgeous pair of chestnuts.’

  ‘That explains all these tracks,’ said Bridget. ‘They must have dropped by to let us know what happened to you. Pity nobody was home. I haven’t seen Nancy in ages.’ Bridget stroked Cobber’s nose. ‘Anyway, I’m looking for Josh.’ She fixed her direct gaze on Zoe. ‘You haven’t seen him, have you?’

  ‘I, um . . .’ Zoe didn’t want to lie to Bridget. But she didn’t want to get Josh into trouble either. So she said nothing. Bridget’s expression went from expectant, to puzzled, to worried.

  ‘Are you all right? I asked you a question.’

  ‘I . . . ah . . .’ She turned at a sound: Captain bursting from the bushes, followed closely by Josh. What a relief, she was off the hook. The collie bounded joyfully from Zoe to Bridget and back again.

  ‘Josh,’ said Bridget. ‘Just the man I’m looking for. We need to treat Echo for some cuts and scrapes. He might feel more confident if you’re there while we do it.’

  Josh’s face lit up. ‘I’ll come.’

  Bridget favoured him with a warm smile. They waved goodbye and headed for the house. Captain was clearly torn between staying with Zoe and going. He came over for
a pat, then sat down at her feet, whining and looking longingly after the disappearing figures. ‘Go on then,’ said Zoe. ‘Nobody’s stopping you.’ With a sharp bark Captain shot off after them.

  ‘Well, Cobber, looks like it’s just you and me.’ She unsaddled him, hosed him down and put him in the yard with a feed. Despite the fact that her feet were killing her, she went to check on Aisha. The exercise had done her good. For once the mare wasn’t restlessly pacing the fence line. Instead, she dozed contentedly in the shade, resting a back foot and swishing her tail at flies. Zoe smiled. The morning had been a bit of a disaster, true, but in the end no real harm had been done. Aisha had enjoyed herself, and so had Josh. If Quinn could have seen them together, galloping through the bush, moving as one, free as the wind . . .

  Zoe carted the saddle and bridle to the tack room, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloom. What was that? A note on the bench, addressed to Quinn.

  Hi Quinn, Ed Owen here. Met Zoe King on river track this AM. Horse lame and phone out of range. She’s fine, on her way home. BTW saw Josh riding black horse like the devil was after him. Couldn’t catch him. Can that boy ever ride!

  Zoe crumpled the sheet of paper into a ball and shoved it in her pocket. What if Bridget had seen the note?

  Things couldn’t go on like this. She had to find a way to tell Quinn, to talk him round. Until then, there could be no more early morning rides for Josh and Aisha. It was too risky and the guilt was becoming too great.

  She headed for the guesthouse, dying to get her boots off and anticipating a long, hot bath to soothe stiff muscles and aching feet. She was going to be sore, she could tell, and both heels had blisters. She hadn’t spent so much time in the saddle since that first ride up the Hump. But back at the house, she couldn’t get Echo out of her mind. The young dolphin hadn’t settled into captive life, even with Mirrhi as a companion. He remained fearful and distrustful. Cuts and scrapes, Bridget had said. How badly hurt was he? It was no use – curiosity had the better of her. Zoe showered, changed and headed for the Reef Centre.

  Karen and Bridget were so deep in conversation they didn’t notice her slip through the gate into Dolphin Harbour. In her hat and dark sunglasses, they probably hadn’t even recognised her. After all, it was her day off. Zoe took a seat in the front row, alongside a few inquisitive members of the public.

  Echo hovered at the far side of the round training pool, snorting occasionally and blowing nervous bubbles. Even from this distance, Zoe could see blood on his nose, and raw welts where he’d bashed his rostrum against the iron gates. Josh was watching him from the side of the pool. She leaned forwards, straining to hear what Karen was saying. ‘The stronger he gets, the wilder he gets. I’ve dropped the water level right down. Not much more than a metre deep, and still can’t do a thing with him. He won’t take fish. I can’t medicate him, train him, draw blood – nothing.’

  Josh stripped to his togs and slipped quietly into the water. For some unaccountable reason he held a red signal flag in one hand, the sort used in training sessions. The boy moved to the centre of the pool. Echo scooted around the perimeter. Zoe expected Josh to tempt him with fish, though the tactic had not been very successful so far with this particular dolphin – he was still too nervous to be motivated by food rewards. But instead Josh followed him, steadily, deliberately: always moving towards the dolphin with the flag upraised. Echo grew more and more agitated. He was dashing every which way now, weaving back and forth in an attempt to get away from Josh and his waving red flag. All this wild swerving occasionally brought Echo closer to Josh. At that precise moment the boy lowered his flag and retreated a few steps. It was subtle. You had to watch very closely to pick the pattern. Once the dolphin had passed him and was heading away again, Josh resumed his quiet pursuit.

  What was he playing at? It took her a couple of minutes to see it. Josh was using the same principles a trainer might use on an unbroken colt. Since starting to ride, Zoe had filled in many long, lonely nights by watching horse training videos on YouTube. One in particular sprang to mind: a man holding a stockwhip, working in a round yard with an unhandled young brumby. The colt was clearly terrified, galloping in circles, seeking an escape route. Eventually it changed direction and, in so doing, turned briefly to face the man. At that exact moment he lowered his whip and retreated. Soon the colt was stopping to face the trainer more and more frequently, even taking a step or two towards him. Within twenty minutes he was relaxed, and trailing after the trainer like a puppy. The colt had learned that the only place where he wouldn’t be bothered, the only truly safe place, was right beside the man.

  It had been a stunning sequence to watch, but it involved a horse. Would round-yarding work on dolphins too? It was an intriguing possibility. Ten minutes in, and no progress seemed to have been made. Echo continued to dash about wildly, and Josh continued his methodical pursuit, retreating and lowering the flag at the instant that Echo accidentally approached him. Zoe saw no signs of the kind of gradual calming displayed by the colt in the video.

  Zoe glanced at Bridget, who was now watching Josh. How long would she allow this to continue? The plan wasn’t working. All it was doing was stressing the dolphin out and putting Josh at risk of being bitten. Then something happened. Echo turned to face Josh, but this time it didn’t look like random, fearful avoidance. The dolphin made a hesitant, experimental movement towards him. The boy deferred, dropped the flag and retreated. One step, then another, then another, with Echo tentatively following as if drawn on a string. Ten minutes later, when Josh stopped with his back against the far side of the pool, Echo swam forwards and nuzzled into his arms.

  Karen clapped. ‘Bravo.’ Zoe expelled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. It had worked. Of course it had worked. Josh had expertly applied the purest principles of operant conditioning, instantly rewarding Echo whenever he approached. But instead of fish, he’d found a reinforcement more appropriate for this particular dolphin. The reward had simply been to take the pressure off. For Zoe, it was a breakthrough moment. The principles of operant conditioning would work with humans and with any other animal, as long as you could find the subject’s currency.

  Josh signalled to Karen, who took him the medical kit. The boy treated the injured dolphin, administering eye-drops and salve, tempting Echo with pilchards laced with oral antibiotics. The offerings were eagerly snapped up now the dolphin was calm.

  If Zoe had ever doubted Josh’s natural talent as a trainer, she didn’t any more. Natural talent. Why had she called it that? She frowned. Her thoughts were cloudy, but there was something there, something she needed to think through. Up until today she’d always attributed Josh’s success to Bridget’s excellent coaching. She was the expert, wasn’t she? Why, then, had she needed Josh to work with Echo today? He hadn’t been there just to give the dolphin a bit of confidence, like Bridget had said. He’d been the brains behind the entire session. Bridget hadn’t even gone near the water.

  But why? Bridget was one of the most highly qualified marine mammal trainers in Australia. As a fellow at the Marine Mammal Institute of California, she’d worked with Scott C. Thomas, a world-renowned expert on cetacean behaviour. Her doctoral thesis had been on the subject of dolphin intelligence. She shouldn’t be leaving things to a special-needs teenage boy.

  What happened next was even more disturbing. The expression on Bridget’s face when she caught sight of Zoe – a fleeting look of pure alarm. It was quickly replaced with a pained smile. ‘Zoe.’ Bridget came over. ‘Very glad you’re here.’

  Zoe doubted that. To voice her concerns seemed so . . . so disrespectful to a woman she genuinely admired. But to ignore the significance of what she’d just seen? That was also out of the question.

  ‘Can you take over, please?’ Bridget put a hand to her abdomen.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘There’s a pain. It’s been bothering me all day, and it’s getting worse.’

  ‘Have you call
ed the doctor?’

  ‘No.’ Bridget grimaced. ‘I just want to go home.’

  ‘It could be something serious.’ Bridget gave a little cry and doubled over, clutching her side. ‘I’m driving you to Bundaberg,’ said Zoe. ‘To the emergency room. Josh can help Karen with the afternoon feedings.’

  Zoe ran over to where Karen was squatting by the edge of the pool, repacking the medical kit. ‘I’m taking Bridget to hospital.’

  Karen looked surprised to see her. She stood up, slowly straightening her back. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Abdominal pains. Did she mention to you that anything was wrong?’

  ‘No,’ said Karen. ‘She didn’t.’ Her expression held no trace of sympathy or concern. Zoe knew Karen had some issues with Bridget, but her reaction, or lack of it, seemed particularly hard-hearted.

  ‘I’ll ring you later.’ She ran back to Bridget, took her arm and helped her walk to the front gate. ‘Wait here while I bring the car round.’ Zoe sprinted round the corner. She’d taken to parking down a side street to avoid filling up the centre’s tiny carpark.

  ‘This is Dad’s car,’ said Bridget as she climbed into the red Lexus. ‘Why do you have my father’s car?’

  ‘He lent it to me. I needed a car. Remember it’s in my contract?’ Zoe spun the wheel and sped out onto the street. Oops, the speed bump. Too fast. She winced as they lurched over it, and glanced across at the passenger seat, relieved when Bridget didn’t call out in pain.

  ‘When did you meet my father?’

  Maybe a little white lie was called for here. ‘One day, at the centre,’ she said vaguely. They drove on for a few minutes in silence. ‘How are you feeling?’

   ‘Worse,’ said Bridget. ‘Much, much worse.’

  They gave details to the nurse and were shown into a cubicle. Bridget lay down on the hard trolley and turned her face to the wall. A young man, an intern, came in with a clipboard and Zoe excused herself. Ten minutes later he came out and called her over. ‘I’ve given your friend some pain relief. We’re going to admit her overnight.’