by Justin D'Ath
Birdy passed him the box. ‘Could you hold these guys for a minute?’
‘Sure. What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, but her voice sounded strange.
Colt watched her dip one hand into the water. She pulled it out, shook it a couple of times, then raised it to her mouth and sucked the webbing between her thumb and fingers.
‘Have you hurt yourself?’
She removed the hand from her mouth and examined it in the pale starlight. ‘I must have scratched it.’
Colt felt a shiver pass through him. ‘When?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Birdy said. ‘I only just noticed.’
Colt remembered what had happened when he’d put his hand into Goldie’s (or Scarlet’s) box. ‘Did one of the birds peck you?’
‘No. And stop fussing, okay! You’re worse than Mum.’
‘As long as it wasn’t a rat,’ he said.
Birdy said nothing. They both looked towards shore. Even in the dark, the big white rats were quite easy to see. There were hundreds – perhaps thousands – of them, all crowded along the water’s edge like plague locusts banked up against the insect netting that farmers used to protect their crops. Now Colt knew where the island had got its name.
‘Where did they all come from?’ Birdy whispered.
‘I don’t know,’ Colt whispered in reply. (Why were they whispering?) ‘But I guess we don’t have to worry about crabs anymore.’
But he would have preferred crabs – even giant, coconut-eating ones – to a plague of coconut-eating ghost rats.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘I told you to stop fussing. It’s just a scratch from a shell or something.’
He hoped so. If it was a bite from a ghost rat, Birdy was going to die.
‘What’s going on with your eyes?’ she asked.
He quickly wiped them dry. ‘Nothing.’
But something was going on. Not just the stupid tears. His night vision was coming back.
‘Colt?’ Birdy was still staring intently at his face, as if she had night vision, too. ‘Your eyes have gone really weird!’
‘Haven’t you ever seen tears before?’ he asked irritably.
Birdy shook her head. ‘It’s not tears. It’s like they’re . . . glowing.’
Colt put a hand up in front of his face and was dumbfounded to see two pale spots of light shining onto his palm. ‘Shashlik! Have they ever done this before?’
‘Why are you asking me?’
‘Because you’ve seen me when I’m Superclown, and I haven’t.’
Birdy waded a bit closer, looking up at him. ‘I don’t think they’ve ever glowed,’ she said.
Colt bent forward and caught his reflection in the water. It looked like he had low-voltage LED lights in his corneas. ‘I look like the Terminator!’
‘They’re the same colour as ghost rats’ eyes,’ said Birdy.
‘Well, thanks a lot,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘I was just joking.’
‘Call me anything,’ Colt said, ‘just don’t compare me to a ghost rat!’
It felt good to be kidding around after all the worry about the firebirds and then Birdy’s hand. Like she said, it was probably just a scratch. Colt yawned. Uh-oh.
‘Let’s wade down that way a bit’ – he pointed down the lagoon – ’and see if we can find those mussels again. I need to keep my strength up.’
‘Mussels for muscles,’ said Birdy.
They waded slowly through the shallows four or five metres out from the beach. An army of big white rats followed them along the shoreline.
Birdy whispered, ‘Why are there so many?’
Colt didn’t know. ‘I guess it’s because there are no people here to keep their numbers down,’ he whispered. For the first time in his life, he would have been happy to see a rat cop – though perhaps not Officer Katt. ‘Now we know why it’s called Plague Island.’
‘How do you think they got here?’ asked Birdy.
‘Who knows how rats get anywhere?’ Colt said. ‘They’re expert stowaways. Wherever people go, rats end up, too.’
And so does rat flu, he thought. We bring it with us.
‘But there aren’t any people here,’ Birdy argued.
‘There’s you and me.’
‘We didn’t bring any rats.’
Colt looked shorewards. All it would take was one pregnant female to begin with. As long as there was food on the island (coconuts), after a few years there could be thousands. ‘It might have been a fisherman,’ he said, ‘or someone travelling round in a yacht. Or a boat might have sunk on the outer reef and one swam ashore.’
‘It must have happened in the last ten or twelve years,’ said Birdy. ‘Ghost rats didn’t exist before that.’
Neither of them could remember that time. People called it the Lost World, or sometimes the Animal Days. There weren’t just rats back in those times, there were actual wild animals roaming free in the countryside! And birds flying about in the sky. Colt could hardly imagine it.
‘Why are they following us?’ Birdy asked, bringing him back to the world of rats.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do they eat people?’
Colt shivered. ‘I guess if they were hungry enough,’ he said. After what’d nearly happened back at the shelter, it was something he didn’t want to think about. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘You already asked,’ Birdy said sharply.
‘Sorry. But how are you feeling?’
‘Okay.’
‘Do you want me to carry the box?’ he offered.
‘It hardly weighs anything,’ she said. ‘Stop fussing!’
‘Sorry for asking.’
‘And stop saying sorry all the time!’
‘Sorry,’ he said again, and they both laughed.
With the help of the strange light from his eyes, Colt spotted the dark shadow of the mussel colony about three metres further out. The tide was full now and he had to wade in quite deep. Birdy stayed in the shallows, holding Goldie and Scarlet’s box.
‘Are they good?’ she asked, when she heard Colt crunching open the first shell.
‘Scrumptious!’ he called back. ‘Much better than chocolate.’
‘As if!’
He broke open another mussel and slurped its contents. ‘I need to eat quite a few. I was getting a bit weak before.’
Birdy said nothing further. She was a tiny silhouette against a white background of ghost rats. Colt stuffed himself with mussels. He felt himself coming fully alive – fully strong – as the nutrients in the salty shellfish did their work. And as he ate, he began filling his pockets again, for later.
‘Colt?’
Something in Birdy’s voice made him stop eating. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m g-getting a b-b-bit cold.’
It wasn’t cold. Even in his damp T-shirt – even standing waist-deep in the lagoon – Colt felt warm enough. He started wading in her direction. ‘Coming.’
‘P-p-please hurry,’ she whimpered.
He got there just in time.
Birdy collapsed into his arms.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be okay, Birdy.’
But he was lying and they both knew it. Birdy might have been shivering, but her skin was burning-hot.
‘I th-think,’ she stammered through teeth that clattered like a mouth full of marbles, ‘it wasn’t a sh-sh-shell that c-cut me.’
It was Colt’s worst nightmare. Just as he’d feared, the scratch on Birdy’s hand hadn’t been caused by a shell. It was a rat bite.
A ghost rat bite!
‘Where are G-G-Goldie and Sc-Sc-Scarlet?’ she asked.
She must have dropped the box when she collapsed. It bobbed about in the water next to them. Colt’s hands were full, so he stooped and bent his legs. ‘See if you can grab it, Birdy.’
She just managed to clasp it in her shivering hands and drag it up onto her chest.
&nbs
p; ‘C-c-can you ch-check if they’re ok-k-kay?’
‘They’ll be okay.’
‘W-water might have g-g-got in. P-p-please check.’
‘How can I check?’ Colt snapped. Suddenly he was angry – not with her, but with their whole situation. With the rats. With the island. With the bird thieves who’d left them there. But mostly he was angry because of what had happened to Birdy.
She had rat flu!
‘I’m sorry,’ Colt said, feeling guilty. ‘But I can’t check the box because I don’t have a spare hand.’
Birdy tried to do it herself. She partly raised the lid and began to slide one hand in to feel if there was any water inside. But she was shaking so badly she knocked the lid sideways. It fell into the water.
‘OM g-g-G!’ she gasped.
Colt couldn’t do anything to help. With its lid gone, the box gaped open. Birdy’s hands were too small to cover it. For a moment nothing happened, then two heads popped up. Birdy tried her best to stop them, but the firebirds were too quick. With a flurry of wings, Goldie and Scarlet went flapping off into the night.
‘N-n-n-no!’ sobbed Birdy.
‘It’s okay,’ Colt said. ‘This is an island. They won’t go far.’
‘What about the r-r-rats?’
‘Goldie and Scarlet will be safe up in the trees.’
‘The c-c-coconuts weren’t s-safe.’
Colt sighed. He was too upset about Birdy to care what happened to a pair of Lost World birds – twenty-million dollars worth or not. But he had to calm her down. ‘Coconuts can’t fly,’ he said. ‘Goldie and Scarlet can. The rats won’t get near them.’
‘I g-guess not,’ Birdy whispered.
She tried to say something else, but all Colt heard was the rattling of her teeth. He had to get her ashore. Had to get her dry and warm and comfortable. That way she might last until help arrived.
Not that there was any help for someone who’d been bitten by a ghost rat.
Colt looked at the rats. They were all lined up along the shore like spectators at a surfing comp. Except there wasn’t any surf and there weren’t any surfers – there was just Colt standing in the water with Birdy in his arms.
Trapped.
The big white rats weren’t moving, except for the occasional blink of their chilling, silver eyes. Eyes like mine, Colt thought. Except his eyes were producing the eerie silver light; the rats’ eyes were just reflecting it. Still, it made them look spooky. Ghost rats.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
Birdy must have thought he was speaking to her. Turning her small, pale face up to his, she whispered, ‘To g-g-get well.’
He blinked away a tear. ‘You will get well, Birdy. I promise.’
It was a big promise, and a silly one. She was not going to get well, and they both knew it. But no way was she going to die like this.
Colt started wading slowly towards the beach. He’d begun shaking almost as violently as Birdy. Not from illness, but from a terrible, growing anger at the ghost rats for all they’d done to the world. For rat flu. For the death of billions of animals and quite a few humans, too.
And for biting Birdy.
The angrier Colt grew, the better he could see in the dark. His eyes were no longer glowing – they were blazing! Like twin laser beams, they were casting long shadows behind the rats, and causing those directly in his line of sight to squint and turn away.
But blinded or not, the rat army stood its ground at the water’s edge. And as Colt drew near, they sat up on their haunches and began squeaking. Then those behind them started up, too. Soon every rat on the beach had joined the squeaking chorus. There must have been two or three thousand rat voices. It was loud.
But not as loud as Colt.
‘QUIET!’ he roared.
Every last rat fell silent.
‘GET OUT OF MY WAY OR YOU’LL BE SORRY!’
A weird thing happened. Almost as if they understood him, the rats scurried left and right in two waves, creating an avenue just wide enough to walk through.
Colt emerged from the water and carried Birdy up the beach. The rats let him pass, then closed the gaps behind him and began following. Colt stopped and turned around. All the rats stopped, too. Their eyes glinted like the Milky Way in the silver sweep of his eyes.
‘GO AWAY!’ he bellowed.
They did. Within thirty seconds, Colt and Birdy were alone on the beach.
‘It’s l-l-like they knew what you were s-s-saying,’ whispered Birdy.
Colt shrugged. ‘They were just scared of my loud voice.’
But part of him wondered . . .
Colt carried Birdy back to the shelter. He wrapped her snugly in Ali’s jacket. The rats hadn’t damaged it. They hadn’t touched the water bottle, either. It was still about one-third full. Colt gave Birdy a few small sips, then screwed the cap firmly back on. He was thirsty, too – particularly after eating all those salty mussels – but Birdy needed water more than he did. Or she would need it. Colt’s mother was a vet; he knew what happened to animals that contracted rat flu. It wasn’t nice.
‘Try to sleep,’ he said unnecessarily – Birdy was asleep already.
Colt ate some more mussels to keep his strength up. His eyes had stopped glowing and he was getting tired. It was very late. He badly needed sleep, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. The rats might come back. Or Birdy might need him.
He was still finding it hard to believe she’d been bitten by a ghost rat. It felt like a bad dream. He wished it was. You could wake from a bad dream.
Despite his efforts to remain awake, Colt finally did fall asleep. And when he woke several hours later, the bad dream had turned into a nightmare. Birdy had moved from stage one of rat flu – chills, weakness, dizzy spells – to stage two: fever. The heat coming off her was incredible. It was like lying next to the hot coals from a camp fire.
Colt dragged the jacket off her. It was soaked through with sweat. He tried to give her more water, but she wouldn’t wake up. It was even worse than he’d thought – Birdy had already moved into stage three: coma. He had to cool her down before the fever sent her into stage four: convulsions. Once a victim started having convulsions, it was only a matter of time before they reached the fifth and final stage of rat flu: heart failure and death.
Gathering Birdy in his arms, Colt carried her down to the lagoon. He sat in the shallows, cradling her limp, unconscious body in his lap. All of her was underwater but her head. Just her short, raspy breaths kept him company. He was terrified they would stop.
Thanks to the seawater, Birdy’s skin began to cool. But Colt wasn’t fooled – he might be able to slow the symptoms down, but he couldn’t stop them. Birdy had rat flu. Sooner or later, she would reach stage five . . .
Colt dreamed about a phone ringing.
His head jerked up. He must have fallen asleep again. While he and Birdy were still in the lagoon! Luckily the tide was going out, pulling the sea further down the beach, so Birdy hadn’t drowned. Her head was still clear of the water. She was still breathing.
And a phone was still ringing.
Still only half awake, Colt scrambled clumsily to his feet. But it was hard to get up with Birdy in his arms. She flopped about like a rag doll as he went racing up the starlit beach towards the tinkly ring-tone of James’s phone. He followed the sound into the trees behind the shelter, stumbling half-blind through the shadowy scrub until he saw its dimly flashing screen in the forked shrub where he’d left it. He had to put Birdy down to answer.
‘Hello?’
There was a moment of silence, then an astonished gasp. ‘Is that Colt?’
‘Yes!’ he cried. And he nearly did cry, literally, when he recognised the voice. ‘Mum!’
Silence. The connection had dropped out.
Hands trembling with a mixture of excitement and frustration, Colt fiddled with James’s phone until he found the Call Back function. He pressed it and waited, but nothing happened. He couldn’t believe
it. Well, he could believe it – he and Birdy were on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean, and the nearest phone tower must have been hundreds of kilometres away. Plus, James’s phone hadn’t been working earlier. But it had worked just now – Colt had heard his mother’s voice!
He tried calling again, with no success.
‘Colt?’ said a tiny voice.
It wasn’t the phone this time. It was Birdy. He crouched next to her, so happy she was awake. ‘Guess what! I just had a call from Mum.’
‘Where . . . is she?’ whispered Birdy.
‘I don’t know. But she was on the phone.’
‘What phone?’
He held it close to her face. ‘It’s James’s. I thought it was wrecked but it must have dried out.’
‘Are they coming . . . to get us?’
‘She didn’t say. The phone dropped out before we could talk.’
‘I wish . . .’ began Birdy, but the phone rang and Colt didn’t hear the rest.
Nor did he hear anything when he answered it.
‘Mum? Hello? Are you there?’
No signal, it said on the water-fogged screen. But there must have been some signal, Colt thought, because it had rung twice. And the first time his mother had actually got through – if only for a couple of seconds.
He stood up and raised the phone high above his head, staring hopefully up at the foggy blue screen.
No signal.
‘We need to be higher,’ he muttered to himself.
‘What?’ said Birdy, her voice like a breath of air.
Shoving the phone into one of his pockets, Colt stooped and carefully picked her up. ‘Let’s go climb a mountain,’ he said.
It wasn’t really a mountain, but the big, cone-shaped hill looked like one in the dark. It blocked out half the night sky and seemed much steeper than it had in daylight. Colt had to take it slowly. He was carrying Birdy. To lose his footing was unthinkable. A fall might kill her.
But no way could he leave her behind. Not in her condition. Not on an island overrun by ghost rats.
Colt wondered where they had all disappeared to.
At least he had his night vision back. The excitement of hearing his mother’s voice – and of discovering that James’s phone still worked – had reawakened his superpowers. He felt strong again.
