“It seems such a waste,” I say.
“What is?” asks Jade.
“Those nine emptied-out old ships.”
“Yes…,” says Rosa. She knows I get some strange ideas sometimes and is used to hearing me out.
“Well, one of them could be used to collect all the animals left behind.”
“What?” says Rosa. You can tell I’ve really surprised her this time.
I tell Rosa and Jade about the conversations Sheryl and I had in our room with Marta and Simone, of how heartbroken the locals are at having to leave their precious animals behind. How they were told there was only room for people on the ships, not their pets and livestock as well. I tell Rosa and Jade I’ve already had nightmares about thousands of animals wild-eyed and gasping, then drowning, being swallowed up by the sea.
“We just can’t leave them to drown,” I say. “It’s wrong. Animals are just as important as people.”
“You’re so right,” says Jade. “Let’s do something about it.”
“Like what?” says Rosa.
So we devise a plan. I remember the half-full tin of red paint in the storeroom, left over from when we painted the window frames and skirting boards in the kitchen. The drop sheet made from thick hemp-like material that we used for painting doesn’t have too many paint splotches on it. We spread it out on the storeroom floor and paint in large red letters: “RESCUE THE ANIMALS!” and underneath that, “DON’T LET THEM DROWN!”
Luckily Mum won’t be back for hours. We have to hope she doesn’t need to go into the storeroom where we’ve got the drop sheet spread out on the floor drying. We don’t want to tell her what we’re up to. She’ll try and stop us. I know it.
I set the alarm for 4:00 a.m. and stuff the clock under my pillow so it won’t be too loud and wake Mum. Mum sleeps like a rock, anyway, but just in case…. We’ve agreed Rosa will stay behind, so that if Mum does wake up she can say Jade and I have gone for an early morning walk on the beach because of the beautiful full moon—we don’t want her to freak out that we’ve disappeared so soon after I’ve returned. She might have a heart attack or a nervous breakdown, and she certainly doesn’t deserve either of those after all she’s been through.
I creep out and wake up Jade with a gentle kiss on her forehead. We roll up the drop sheet in the storeroom—the paint is mercifully dry, as we don’t want our words to streak and be unreadable. I grab several lengths of rope Dad left behind when he moved out—thankfully sailors have lots of spare rope. I roll the rope into coils and loop them up our arms and over our shoulders—we’ll need four of them. I find two torches and give one to Jade. We each pick up one end of the drop sheet cylinder, as it is quite heavy, and slip out the door into the night. There is a full moon, so at least that part of the story Rosa might possibly have to tell Mum is true. As is the beach part. The most important part, of course, will come out later, after the deed has been done.
Jade and I soon reach the beach and are startled to see a security guard near one of the ships. We hadn’t thought of that. We realize they would have to have some sort of security to stop unauthorized people clambering all over the ships. We stand behind some trees, prop our weighty cylinder against a tree trunk, and watch him for a while, uncertain what to do. He sits down on a wooden bench, looking at his phone, then gets up again and wanders off toward the toilet block. He looks over his shoulder before he enters the building, then goes in.
“It’s now or never,” I whisper to Jade and she nods.
We hoist up the sheet again and sprint across the sand as fast as we can, considering the bundles we’re juggling. We go straight into the guts of the closer ship, through the huge makeshift hatch which had been dropped down onto the sand where the people had poured out. It’s pitch-black in here, despite the full moon outside, and I’m so glad I thought of the torches. We climb up through the ship until we reach the deck above the life boats. We look down and there’s no sign of the security guard. Let’s hope he stays in the toilet for a while. He’s got his phone, so that might keep him interested for a longer time than necessary.
We have to work out how to tie the drop sheet to the ship so that it hangs down on the side and won’t flap around too much. It’s easy enough to shape the corners of the drop sheet into a loopy knot and tie a rope to each one. We then spread out the length of the drop sheet and firmly tie two of the ropes to the ship’s rail, leaving the bottom of the drop sheet swinging free. We now have to get down to where the lifeboats are and tie the bottom ropes on there. We race down the steps, one eye out for the guard, who thankfully still seems occupied in the toilets. We tie the lower ropes onto the davits and we’re done and out of there, racing across the sand and up the hill. Safely back home, we go out onto the veranda to look down at our handiwork. The full moon is shining on the white drop sheet and our large words in red paint stand out clearly even from this distance. I take a photo it looks so good.
It’s hard to go back to sleep after all that excitement, and it’s almost dawn anyway. I get Jade and myself a glass of orange juice each, and we huddle closely together on the veranda in the cool morning air, sipping our drinks and whispering so as not to disturb the others.
When Rosa and Mum get up, Rosa races straight to the front windows.
“Awesome!” she says.
“It is, isn’t it,” I reply smugly.
Jade and I share a smile and a congratulatory knuckle tap.
“What’s going on?” asks Mum.
No one answers, but she follows the direction of our eyes.
“Wow! Look at that!” Mum exclaims.
She looks back at us.
“Tell me you don’t have anything to do with it,” she says.
“No can do, Mum,” I confess.
“There’ll be trouble, I know it,” she says.
“Who cares?” I say. “It’ll be worth it. They’ll really have to do something about the animals now that they know.”
As I speak Jade says, “Oh no….”
Someone is taking down our sign already.
But that night we find out our handiwork was not in vain. Some early bird has taken a photo of our sign and sent it to the local news. There’s a lot of speculation about who painted the sign and draped it on the ship, but no one comes to our door.
The next morning on the television news, we’re surprised to see other people have done the same as us. Most of the other ships have huge signs made of drop sheets, tarps, or bedsheets draped on them. And every sign gets removed again. But the photos exist and are spread all around on social media, are shown on television, and appear in newspapers. People have now started to gather in front of the ships, carrying their own placards with similar wording. The movement is gaining momentum.
“Maybe our government would be prepared to bring them here,” I say hopefully.
Mum is skeptical.
“I don’t think you can save them, Jilda. I doubt Tasmania will welcome lots of animals as well as dealing with all these new people,” says Mum.
“A lot of Tasmanians really care about the environment,” says Rosa. “Look at all the people getting involved with placards and signs.”
“What about quarantine?” says Mum. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t so practical. She thinks of everything.
“Well, they would do their stint in quarantine, and then be let out,” I say.
“Maybe Tasmania can’t take all the animals from Levy Archipelago, but I’m sure we can find out who would,” Jade says.
“Maybe some other countries will accept some of the animals,” I suggest. “Taking several hundred or even more each, say?”
Mum looks at all of us.
“I doubt any government would care about another country’s animals that much,” says Mum. “And Levy Archipelago’s government doesn’t exist anymore, so you can’t appeal to them to help you.”
“I’m sure their governor will still care,” says Jade. “And he’d have connections in lots of different countries, from
when he used to be in charge. Maybe we could approach him.”
“How much longer do you think the animals can live there?” Mum asks.
“A couple of years at the most I’d say, from what Marta and Simone said, but then that’d be it. The islands will be covered completely,” I say.
“Oh dear,” says Mum. “That’s unthinkable.” Mum is an animal lover after all.
“So the priority is to get them off, no matter what,” I state firmly.
Jade looks at me admiringly.
“I agree,” says Mum, “but it won’t be you doing it.”
Rosa and I catch each other’s eyes. We know exactly what the other is thinking.
Our mum is an activist from way back. As is Dad. Our eyes say we’ll do whatever it takes to get them to support us.
Chapter Sixteen: Gap Year Shore
EVER SINCE then we’ve been campaigning to save the animals. Jade’s parents finally agree for her to stay on longer—it is her gap year after all, and she’s doing something very worthwhile with it. There are loads of long phone calls before it happens, including an extended Skype session with Mum convincing them she is doing her best to look after their daughter, taking the laptop around the house to show them where Jade is staying. They can’t believe our view from the lounge-room windows, especially with the two huge ships filling the space. People who’ve never been to Hobart just don’t realize what a beautiful place it is. Jade sends their luggage and the Tassie souvenirs she bought at the Salamanca Markets by sea mail, and promises she’ll return home once our campaign is successful. She’s so positive—she says “once,” not “if.”
Meanwhile, we all decide we should be doing more to help house the refugees, Marta and Jonas in particular. We find out they are camping in one of the local schools, and after all the documentation is completed, they move in with us. Despite their protestations they are putting us out, we know they really appreciate being in a real home once more.
I move out of my bedroom again and back into Rosa’s. I decide I’d like to sleep on a mattress on the floor this time, rather than having poor Rosa put up with me tossing and turning all night, and anyway, I’ve almost become used to sleeping on the floor after the experience on the boat. I’ll be able to sneak out sometimes to see Jade in the lounge room too, without disturbing Rosa, when everyone else in the house is sound asleep. We move my computer desk in and put it side by side with Rosa’s, but we have to move Rosa’s bookshelf out into the hall. It looks okay there. On top of the bookshelf we place the small wooden turtle and seahorse Mum had bought for us at the markets on that fateful day of the shore excursion when they were blissfully unaware of what was happening to me on the ship.
The schools finally reopen as the refugees begin to be housed, so Rosa and I have to juggle our campaign to save the animals with going to school. We’re flat-out. Jade keeps at it all the time we’re at school, or doing our homework, keeping the momentum going, and Marta and Jonas help out when they’re not busy trying to find jobs. We hold rallies outside Parliament House on Saturday mornings where the Salamanca crowd can see and support us, and we write letters to the newspapers and whoever we think might help. We start a dedicated Facebook page to update followers of our progress. There is increasingly more interest, but nothing concrete is happening yet.
The Tasmanian government finally says we have to be realistic, and they can’t accept thousands of pigs, chickens, cats, and dogs, but would be willing to take a share if we can find other countries that will take some as well and spread the load. Through Marta and Jonas, we approach their old governor, who is at first cautious but is won over by our enthusiasm for the idea.
By sending letters and emails and using the former governor of Levy Archipelago’s contacts, we approach the governments of different countries around the Pacific region near Levy Archipelago, including Fiji, Samoa, Tonga, New Caledonia, Vanuatu, and others, and can’t believe it when most of them agree to each take a thousand pigs and chickens, and will even pay us for them. None of them are interested in the cats and dogs, though. With countries willing to accept some of the animals, we now have to make it happen. And we need to think more about the cats and dogs.
Rosa, Jade, Marta, Jonas, and I approach Greenpeace and Animal Rights, and both organizations say they support us, but we have to realize that most of the pigs and chickens will still ultimately be killed for food if they are rescued anyway, so what’s the use of going to all the effort of saving them from the rising waters. I reply that would have been their original fate on Levy Archipelago too, but now that the islands have been evacuated, at least this way their deaths will not be by panicked drowning and for no reason. If they are rescued, they can live a relatively pleasant life a little longer until their final destiny.
Representatives of both organizations say they can see my point and promise they will match us dollar for dollar in our bid to raise funds for saving the animals. With the promised sale price for the animals by the participating island countries, the numbers are starting to look possible.
We start a crowdfunding campaign to raise money to send a ship to collect the animals. Jade gets her parents and contacts in America involved too and encourages people over there to contribute. Her parents are supersupportive from the start, which helps Mum and Dad become a bit less skeptical. We don’t know how much money to set as a goal, and we know if we don’t reach that target we won’t get a cent of the pledges, as that’s how crowdfunding works. So we decide to try and raise fifty thousand dollars as a start.
We call our campaign “Pig Patrol,” and have a hashtag to match, and can’t believe how quickly the money pledges start arriving. Within a month we have our fifty thousand, and the figures just keep rising. By the time the campaign closes, we’ve raised one hundred thousand dollars. That means we now have three hundred thousand dollars for our cause, due to Greenpeace and Animal Rights both matching us dollar for dollar, plus we will have the money the different governments will give us to pay for the pigs and chickens when they receive them. The Tasmanian government consents to the release of one of the decommissioned cruise ships for the journey, and after hours of heated discussion, forcing them to imagine how they would feel if their pets were left to drown, they agree to take all the dogs and cats as no one else will. However, they stipulate that while the pets are in quarantine they must be neutered and vaccinated, with the costs offset by the income from our farmers buying up the pigs and chickens. Only the healthy pets will be returned to their owners, so we must be realistic.
Rosa, Jade, and I beg to be allowed to go on the rescue mission. Jonas is to be the expedition leader, as he knows the waters so well, but Marta doesn’t want to come, as she doesn’t think she could bear to see her homeland again in such circumstances.
After much pleading, the government gives us the go-ahead to join the expedition—on the proviso our parents give their permission—as they concede the whole rescue is only occurring because of us and so we deserve to be a part of it. When we tell Mum and Dad the government is behind us, at first they forbid us to go. They say they’re so proud we’ve gotten the project as far as it is, but they aren’t going to let us take off to sea without them, especially as their emotions are still so raw from when I was missing for all that time. Finally, after days and nights of begging, tears, and promises of eternal good behavior, and everything else we can possibly think of, our parents—after discussing it with Jade’s parents—agree we have earned the right because of our hard work and commitment. They trust Jonas after getting to know him so well through living with us, and know we’ll be safe with him due to his familiarity with the ocean.
Chapter Seventeen: Ship and Shore
MUM AND Dad, Marta, and thousands of supporters, mostly from Levy Archipelago, but also lots of Hobart locals, come to the docks to see us off. Some of them wave Levy Archipelago flags, and others wave long ribbons of brightly colored crepe paper in the colors of their flag. When we sail away from the pier, we can’t belie
ve the size of the crowd that is there to wish us well on our journey. Jade, Rosa, and I wave and wave until it feels like our arms are about to fall off, and then when the figures on the wharf are so tiny we can no longer distinguish them, we turn and face out to sea.
It’s strange traveling on a decommissioned cruise ship, and the quarters we stay in are basic to say the least—nothing at all like when we set off on our cruise ship adventure from Sydney almost a year ago. But we’re so proud of what we’re about to do.
After a few days at sea, we arrive in the vicinity of Levy Archipelago. We’ve had a rough trip, and I’m glad I’ve got heaps of Mum’s seasickness tablets, which I keep taking to keep the nausea at bay. Luckily they’re helping quite a bit. I learned I’m prone to queasiness the hard way not all that long ago on that other fateful voyage, but I’m certainly not going to let my seasickness hold me back from doing what I’ve come to do on this important trip. Rosa and Jade, on the other hand, seem to be some of those lucky people who don’t suffer from seasickness too much. Rosa keeps teasing me about how green I look, but Jade holds my hand and sympathizes.
Peering through Mum’s binoculars she lent us for the trip, I can just make out several low-lying bumps in the distance.
“Is that them, Jonas?” asks the captain.
“Yes,” says Jonas, quietly. His eyes are misting over, and his voice cracks.
We’re counting on Jonas—being a fisherman, he’ll know what the islands look like from way out in the ocean. We really can’t afford to make a mistake and go off course in this vast region.
Finally we get up close. The water level has obviously risen. Many of the lower houses are now below the waterline, only their roofs showing above the waves, and water is lapping at the steps of the houses higher up. No wonder Marta didn’t want to come to witness this. It would be heartbreaking if it was your home.
The pier is now underwater too, so we can’t moor the boat. But we’ve been half expecting that. Anchoring as close to shore as we possibly can, we’re able to see thousands of dogs, cats, pigs and chickens have made it to the highest point around. Some cats and chickens have even climbed into trees, and snakes have twined themselves around branches. Huge expanses of webs that look like nets are straddling the treetops, keeping the spiders that have woven them safely above the waterline. It’s clear waves have been rolling over the area. It is a vision of hell. The animals couldn’t have lasted much longer, and I’m so glad we’ve made the effort to come.
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