by Justin D'Ath
‘What the heck –’ growled Leather-hat.
That was all he managed to say. He shouldn’t have taken his eyes off Michi. Michi had a dog hanging off one foot, but his other foot was free. And Michi’s feet were deadly weapons.
Thump!
Leather-hat never knew what hit him. He dropped the spear gun and fell in a heap. His heavy-brimmed hat went spinning off across the clearing like a frisbee.
‘Hey, don’t do that!’ cried Baldy. He lurched to his feet and came staggering towards me.
I kicked the cage door open.
Who knows how long Doris had been locked up, but when she saw a chance to escape, she took it. She bolted from the cage at roughly sixty kilometres per hour. Baldy saw her coming and spread his arms to shoo her back in.
It was brave of him, but stupid.
Doris had a sniff of freedom in her nostrils and she wasn’t going to stop for anything. Baldy had no chance. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. The cassowary lowered her head and ploughed into him, horn first, like a charging rhinoceros. Whomp! Right in the stomach.
When the dust cleared, Baldy lay flat on his back beside Leather-hat. The only sign of Doris was a long black feather that fluttered silently to the ground on the other side of the clearing. And the sound of her heavy feet thumping down the slope towards the bay.
I staggered out of the cage. There was no time to lose. Both smugglers would be out of action for a while, but Michi’s and my troubles were far from over. Michi still dangled from the branch with the pit bull swinging from his ankle. He tried kicking it with his other foot, but he couldn’t reach. Weird. I had to look twice before I understood what was happening. The pit bull’s jaws were locked onto Michi’s sock, not his ankle, and the sock was stretching. A long loop of it hung out of his tightly-laced shoe. The sock might rip at any moment. Or Michi might let go. Then the pit bull would make mincemeat of him.
I raced round behind the cage and found the spear embedded in a tree trunk. It took a moment to wriggle it free, then I ran back for the spear gun. I didn’t want to hurt the dog, but it was either him or us. Kneeling between the two unconscious smugglers, I tried desperately to load the gun. But I couldn’t work out how to do it. Hurry, hurry! I thought in a panic. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped the spear.
‘Sam, tyuui site!’
I looked up just in time to see Michi’s shoe slip from his foot, dragged off by the weight of the pit bull. Bruce crashed to the ground. He was up in a split second. He snarled at Michi dangling from the tree above him. Then he turned his ugly head in my direction.
Uh oh!
When the pit bull bared his teeth at me, they looked every bit as fearsome as a tiger shark’s. For a moment, the dog seemed to smile.
Then he charged.
There wasn’t time to pick up the spear. I used the gun to fend him off. Or tried to. Quick as a sprung rat trap, the pit bull chomped the metal shaft in its teeth and wrenched the useless weapon from my grip.
I began backing slowly away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Michi drop to the ground, stagger slightly, then limp off into the trees. I was on my own. It was just me and Bruce now. Boy versus pit bull.
Bruce dropped the spear gun and came stalking after me like a cat playing with an injured mouse. I wasn’t injured, but I felt as helpless as a mouse. My karate training had helped when I was fighting the tiger shark, but facing a pit bull I was hopelessly outclassed. All I could do was try to get away. I shuffled slowly backwards. The cages were behind me. If I could just reach them, I might have a chance.
But I wasn’t looking where I was going. My heels bumped into something and I lost my balance. As I tumbled slowly backwards over Baldy’s lifeless body, I glimpsed Michi racing up behind the pit bull with a large stick raised above his head like a samurai sword. But he wasn’t going to make it. Bruce would be on me before Michi reached us.
Even as I hit the ground, I was rolling sideways in a last ditch attempt to evade the attacking pit bull.
The attack never came. Instead, I heard a pounding sound, like horses’ hooves. The ground trembled. A huge black shape shot straight over me. For a nanosecond it blocked out the sun. Then, with a rush of wind, it was gone.
I sat up in time to see Doris galloping off into the trees with Bruce hot on her heels.
Michi helped me to my feet. He grinned and pointed with Baldy’s stick into the forest where the cassowary and pit bull had just disappeared.
‘Roadrunner!’ he said. Obviously Michi watched cartoons in English, too.
‘Cassowary,’ I told him. I didn’t know why she’d come back, but Doris had saved our bacon by leading Bruce away.
‘Let’s go,’ I said, and led Michi off in the other direction.
22
CRAZY KID!
When we emerged from the forest behind the smugglers’ tent, we discovered why Doris had come charging back through the clearing. Help had arrived. Help for Michi and me, that is. Not for Doris. One look at the Zodiac inflatable boat puttering up the narrow bay towards her, and she must have freaked out and doubled back the way she had come.
Three men were on board. They must have come from a larger vessel waiting out in deeper water. From their clothing, I knew they weren’t policemen or naval officers. Perhaps they were from the Volunteer Coast Guard. They steered their craft around the anchored Sharee and nudged it ashore beside Baldy and Leather-hat’s dinghy. The outboard motor fell silent.
‘G’day,’ I said, leading Michi down to meet them. ‘It’s sure good to see you.’
The men stepped out of the Zodiac and pulled its broad triangular bow up onto the sand. One of them was tall and wore a blue jacket and captain’s hat.
‘Who are you?’ he asked. He had a strange accent.
‘Sam Fox,’ I said. ‘And this is Michi. We’re the ones you’re looking for.’
The captain seemed puzzled. He spoke to one of the other men in a language I didn’t recognise. The other man shrugged and replied in the same language. As they talked, I noticed a bulge beneath the captain’s jacket, just below his left armpit. It looked scarily like a pistol. He turned back to Michi and me, his brow creased in a frown as he studied our tattered and filthy clothes.
‘This is a surprise,’ he said. ‘We expected to meet Charlie Willis and Sebastian Crowe, not a pair of boys.’
Suddenly the penny dropped. These men weren’t looking for us, they were looking for Leather-hat and Baldy. They were the overseas buyers come to collect the birds!
‘They’re up with the consignment,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m Sebastian’s nephew and this is my friend Michi.’
The captain nibbled his lower lip. He didn’t seem totally convinced. ‘Where is the, er, consignment?’
‘Just through there.’ I pointed into the forest.
‘Show us,’ he said.
No way, I thought. As soon as they found Sebastian and Charlie (alias Baldy and Leather-hat), our number would be up. ‘It’s only fifty metres,’ I said. ‘You can hear the birds from here.’
It was true. The caged parrots were chattering and squawking like budgies in an aviary. The captain listened for a moment, then nodded.
‘Jimmy, you come with me,’ he ordered one of the men. ‘Rollo, stay here and keep the children company.’
The captain was right not to trust me, but I resented it all the same. And I resented being called a child.
He would soon learn how badly he’d underestimated us.
I watched the two men disappear into the forest. The third man, Rollo, leaned against a palm tree and lit a cigarette. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. There was no bulge of a gun, but he had a large bowie knife in a sheath on his belt. I caught Michi’s eye. Did he have any idea what was going on? We had sixty seconds, maximum, before the other two reached the clearing. Then the bird poop would hit the fan.
‘Where are you going?’ Rollo asked me.
‘I need a drink,’ I said, walking casually towards the tent.
> Michi followed me, right on cue.
So did Rollo.
All three of us crowded into the tent. There wasn’t much room. A low folding-bed and sleeping bag took up much of the floor space. It confirmed my theory that Baldy had camped on the island while Leather-hat ferried the birds over from the mainland. Judging by the mess, I guessed Baldy had been there for several nights.
A big Esky sat next to the centre pole. I lifted the lid. I’d had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours and my mouth watered at the sight of all the food – bread, cheese, frankfurters, corned beef – but there wasn’t time to eat. I picked up a carton of eggs and tossed it to Rollo.
‘Catch!’
Instinctively he caught it. Before he had time to register surprise, I shoved him hard in the chest. Still holding the eggs, Rollo took half a step backwards, tripped on a pile of clothes and sat down so heavily on the flimsy bed that it gave way beneath him. Even before he hit the floor, I was backing out of the tent, pushing Michi behind me with one hand, and reaching for the centre pole with the other.
The tent collapsed in a big squirming heap. It was squirming because Rollo was caught somewhere inside it. I tossed the tent pole aside and beckoned to Michi.
‘Quick, we’ll take one of the boats!’
I had forgotten – again – that Michi didn’t understand English. Instead of following me, he stooped and picked up the tent pole.
Crazy kid! What did he think… ?
That thought never got finished. Because suddenly I saw why Michi needed the tent pole. I skidded to a halt.
Shishkebab!
Halfway between us and the two boats, stood Bruce the pit bull.
23
SITTING DUCKS
I hardly recognised him. The dog’s head was hanging, he was covered in bleeding scratches, and one paw was raised painfully off the ground.
It was obvious what had happened. Pit bulls are bred to fight other pit bulls, not cassowaries. Doris had given him a lesson in jungle combat.
When Michi waved the tent pole, Bruce whimpered like a frightened puppy and scuttled out of our way.
We ran for the boats. I could hear angry voices coming from the direction of the birdcages. Behind us, Rollo was using his knife to hack his way out of the collapsed tent.
Michi ran to the nearest boat, Leather-hat and Baldy’s aluminium dinghy, but I grabbed his arm.
‘Not that one,’ I said. ‘The other one’s got a motor.’
We pushed the Zodiac out into the water and scrambled over its squashy rubber sides. I could hear shouting in the forest behind us. Further along the shoreline, Rollo was clambering out of the pile of twisted canvas that was no longer recognisable as a tent. His clothes were splattered with eggs. I tried not to watch him as I struggled with the Zodiac’s outboard motor. It had a rope starter like a lawn mower. I yanked on it. One pull, two pulls, three pulls. Rollo came tearing along the beach. I could hear voices in the trees, growing louder every second. Four pulls. Michi was using his hands like paddles but we were still only a few metres from shore, and going backwards. Five pulls.
Is the fuel turned on? I suddenly thought.
I found a twist valve on the rubber hose leading from the fuel tank, and turned it.
Six pulls. The engine roared into life and the boat shot forward. But it was facing the shore. We met Rollo head-on as he came splashing out towards us. The Zodiac ploughed into him, toppling him over backwards. He disappeared under the front of the boat, his fingers clutching at the slippery fabric. I swung the engine sideways and the Zodiac began a slow U-turn. It rocked from side to side as Rollo fought to hold on. Only his hands and forearms were visible, clinging to the bow.
‘Michi, try to make him let go!’ I cried.
Even though he couldn’t understand my words, Michi knew what I meant. He nodded and scrabbled towards the front of the boat.
I looked over my shoulder. The smuggler called Jimmy came running out of the trees. The captain wouldn’t be far behind, and he had a gun. As Jimmy charged down the beach, I twisted the throttle grip as far as it would go. With a roar, we shot out into the bay. Michi lost his balance and fell back against my legs. I risked another look back and saw the captain appear at the edge of the forest. He and Leather-hat were supporting Baldy, who limped between them. When the captain saw what was going on, he let go of Baldy and whipped out his pistol. He raised it as he ran to the water’s edge. We were only twenty-five metres out from shore. Sitting ducks.
‘Look out!’ I yelled, pushing Michi down.
I would have liked to join him in the bottom of the boat, but I had to steer. I crouched behind the outboard motor. There was a deafening bang as a bullet crashed into the marineply transom that supported it. Wood splinters showered all over us. A second bullet ricocheted off the engine housing. In a desperate effort to present a more difficult target, I set us on a zigzag course towards the mouth of the bay. Another bullet buzzed overhead, missing me by millimetres.
Then the shooting stopped. I soon saw the reason. Rollo’s head had appeared over the bow. He had grabbed hold of one of the stainless-steel towing rings and hauled himself up. The captain had to stop shooting for fear of hitting him.
‘Take the engine,’ I said to Michi, motioning with my hand.
He seemed to understand. We swapped places. I crawled towards the front of the Zodiac. Towards Rollo. He had hold of two towing rings now and was halfway in. I reached for one of his hands and twisted the fingers back, forcing him to let go. The smuggler cursed me and slid down almost out of view. I tried the same thing on his other hand, but he closed it in a tight fist. He was strong. Even with two hands, I was finding it hard to make him let go.
‘Tyuui site!’ yelled Michi.
Instinctively, I made an upward elbow block. And not a moment too soon. While I’d been struggling with Rollo’s left hand, his right hand had drawn the bowie knife from its sheath and swung it up over the edge of the Zodiac in a deadly arc. I blocked it right above my head. Its big serrated blade flashed in the sunlight. For several seconds we had a silent wrestling match. Rollo was pushing down, I was pushing up. He was bigger and stronger than me, but I had the advantage of being inside the boat. I wedged my legs against its tight, air-filled sides and used my whole body as a lever. Slowly the knife wavered and began to lift.
Then we hit a wave. The Zodiac’s bow reared up and the smuggler was thrown off balance. For a split second he stopped pushing against my arm as he adjusted his grip on the towing ring. It was all the time I needed. I formed a karate ridgehand and struck him with all my strength right on the point of his elbow. It hurt my hand, but it hurt Rollo more. He screamed, dropped the knife, and slid from view.
‘Karate, okay!’ Michi said, smiling at me from the other end of the Zodiac as we rocked across another wave.
I peered cautiously over the side. We were clear of the bay and moving out into open water. A big ocean cruiser lay at anchor just beyond the breakers. The overseas smugglers’ boat. For a moment I considered telling Michi to steer towards it, then changed my mind. I didn’t even know how to pull up an anchor, much less operate such a large craft. The Zodiac was our best chance of escaping. I looked back. Rollo’s head bobbed in the surf. He yelled at me and made an aggressive gesture above the waves with one hand. I couldn’t hear him over the roar of the outboard’s motor, but I could guess what was on his mind. He was a bad loser.
One hundred and fifty metres behind him, slowly crossing the bay towards the Sharee, was a small rowing boat with four men on board.
Michi and I had won this round, but I had a very bad feeling about the next one.
24
THE FINAL ROUND
The Zodiac was no match for Leather-hat’s powerful launch. We had five minutes head start, but by the time we rounded the end of Cowrie Island, the Sharee was only a few hundred metres behind us. And gaining fast.
Michi held the throttle wide open. I pointed at a line of trees poking above the horizon. Utopia
Island. He nodded and adjusted our course slightly, until we were heading straight for it. But his face remained grim, and I suspect mine was the same. Both of us knew we weren’t going to make it.
Then Michi’s expression changed. His eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Soko ni booto ga arimasu!’ he said, pointing.
I twisted round to look. Another boat! It had just appeared around the end of Utopia Island. But could they see us? I glanced back at the smugglers’ launch. It was only a hundred and fifty metres away now. Close enough for me to identify the two figures on the flying bridge. Leather-hat was at the helm. The captain stood beside him, gripping the canvas sun canopy for support, and holding a small dark object in his other hand. Even at that distance, I saw what it was.
I turned my back on the smugglers. Bracing my legs against the Zodiac’s sides, I stood up and waved my hands above my head. But it was hopeless. The other boat was nearly a kilometre away. They would never see me. The Zodiac bounced over a swell and I had to drop to my knees with a thump to avoid being bounced overboard. Then I noticed a gap in the floor. The bottom of the Zodiac was lined with marineply floor plates, and two had come loose when I landed. There was something underneath. A box of some kind with red writing on it. Only one word was visible through the gap in the floor plates, or part of a word: MERGENCY. I lifted one of the panels. In the small compartment underneath were two life jackets, and a black waterproof case with the following inscription:
MARINE SIGNAL FLARE USE ONLY IN EMERGENCY
This was an emergency. I dragged the case out and opened it. Inside was the biggest pistol I’d ever seen. Its barrel wasn’t particularly long, but it was as wide as a truck’s exhaust. Packed next to it were two shells. They resembled shotgun shells, except they were much larger – almost as big as baked-bean cans. The flare pistol broke open exactly like my brother’s twelve-gauge shotgun. I slid one of the shells into the breech and snapped it closed. I cocked the hammer, then raised the oversized pistol above my head.
