by James Erith
In her mind, she pictured the geography of the area and the position of the cliff face. She knew from several attempts to climb it that surrounding her probable position was a ledge and, above this, a sheer wall of pure rock.
And then, like a thought one doesn’t want to think about but cannot avoid, she realised that she was completely and utterly trapped.
31
Gus’ Canopy
Gus was sure he’d seen Kemp, and that he looked nothing less than terrified. And who was that odd chap he was with? Oh well, what the hell. Whatever he was up to, Kemp was probably best left to his own devices. Right now he had more pressing things to be getting on with.
He hurried after Sue, his arms nearly dropping off with the weight of the shopping bags. It had been so embarrassing. In the shop he’d rushed round and shovelled everything he could find – pretty much the entire contents of two shelves – into three carrier bags, much to the shopkeeper’s increasing curiosity. Sue was the other side doing the same, before running up to the counter and literally throwing money at the shopkeeper. The notes fluttered in the air and the coins sprayed like confetti all over the counter. She spun on her heel and fled out of the door with Gus right behind her.
‘Stop! Thieves!’ the shopkeeper yelled out, but even though Gus turned round and shrugged his shoulders as a sort of apology, he’d run away as fast as his legs could carry him, down the hill. And when he took a little breather, that’s where he’d seen Kemp.
The boathouse was clad in old weatherboard wooden planks with big, square, open windows at either end. Gus thought it looked like a mini wooden barn. On the river side, the shed had a section removed with just enough room for a boat to be pulled in and out.
Sue was trembling so much she couldn’t lift the plant pot under which the key sat and eventually Gus put his bags down and calmly did it for her. The key was old and rusty and got stuck in the lock, turning only fractionally. He forced it first one way and then the other, loosening it gradually until it clicked and fell around. If that was the condition of the lock, he thought, then what sort of condition will the boat be in?
The door whined as it opened, as another crash of thunder and lightning crackled in the sky overhead. Gus shivered and brushed a few old cobwebs out of the way.
‘When was the last time this was used?’ he asked.
‘No idea,’ Sue replied, searching for a light. She pushed the switch and a solitary dangling light bulb flickered into life.
In the middle, and covered by a large tarpaulin, was the boat, which sat on two large pieces of wood on the dry ground. It was a rowing boat with three bench seats and Gus reckoned it was probably twelve feet in length and four feet wide. He laughed. ‘And this piece of junk is going to save us? It should be in a museum!’
He dragged off the tarp and shook it. Dust flew everywhere. ‘Help me fold this up and stow it,’ he said. They opened it to find that it appeared to be twice the size of the boat. They folded it quickly and nestled it inside the boat. Gus whistled as he inspected the vessel. Layers of varnish had peeled off and the wood was covered in a thick layer of dust. He wondered how much weight it would take.
‘We need to build a canopy,’ Sue said.
‘Why?’ Gus quizzed.
‘So the boat doesn’t fill with rainwater and we don’t spend the entire time bailing it out, that’s why.’
Gus pulled the oars off the wall and nestled them in the rowlocks before searching the boathouse for wood. He found a few decent lengths of 2 inch by 4 inch cut timber.
‘How long did you say we would be stuck in this?’
Sue shrugged. ‘How should I know? A day, a week—’
‘A week?’
‘Maybe a month?’
‘Jeez. A month.’ For the first time, Gus was taking their situation seriously and he sprang into overdrive. He ran round the room finding things that might be useful and tossed them into the boat; rope, bits of wood, a couple of buckets, a crabbing line and a fishing net. He found a handy looking wooden box and a plastic container with a sealed lid. He told Sue to give it a quick clean before putting in the matches and anything else that needed to be kept dry.
Then he had a thought. How would they anchor down the canopy? And what would they sleep on? And what would they drink? He yelled over to Sue who was still busy cramming the tarpaulin under a seat. ‘Really, a month! You think so?’
A huge crack of thunder smashed overhead.
She put her hands out. ‘How long is a piece of string?’
Gus spied four fifty-litre plastic containers. He ran over and smelled them. No foul odours. Good. He took two to the tap, rinsed each one out and filled them before heaving them up onto the boat, which creaked ominously under the weight. He hoped the wood was sound.
‘Make room for these,’ he instructed Sue, ‘one at each end.’
Gus tied the two empty ones to either side to act as bumpers or emergency buoys.
With this task complete, Gus stood up. As he did, the rain suddenly started to cascade out of the sky, thumping like a carnival on the tin roof. Within moments water was spilling through the cracks. Gus wished he had a bit more time. He spotted a couple of loose planks on the far wall. He marched over and, without hesitating, began levering the first one off. As it fell to the floor Gus stared in disbelief at the rain. Holy moley, he thought, she really is right. Rain was falling out of the sky like a sheet.
He pulled two more weatherboards away and slipped them into the boat. ‘Hammer and nails,’ he yelled out. ‘Have you seen any?’ He mimed hammering a nail.
Sue pointed in the direction of an old workbench.
It was a long shot but if there were any it might make all the difference. He went through the drawers and cupboards, finding paint and rags and paintbrushes and sandpaper. He dragged out a thick canopy and laid it aside. But there was nothing suitable for attaching it. To the right was another pile of bits and bobs covered in two large, old dust sheets. He picked them up, shook them out and handed them to Sue.
Beneath this was a selection of woodworking tools. Gus thumped the air. What an astonishing stroke of luck. Clearly someone had set out to repair the building and left everything.
Right, Gus thought. I reckon I’ve got approximately fifteen minutes to build a world class, life-saving canopy.
Gus stretched the canopy, which in truth was a thick, heavy-duty plastic sheet, the length of the boat from bow to stern. It fitted perfectly. To make the main beam, he placed a long length of wood under one side and a matching length above it, so that it sandwiched the plastic sheet. He used two 2 inch by 4 inch sections, about four feet long, to connect to the main beam – one at each end. Then he nailed in two more sections at each end from the side rim of the boat to the main post, which levered the canopy up to form a tent shape.
It was a tad uneven, Gus thought, but it would do. He listened to the downpour. It needed to be super strong. He’d take more wood and prop up the mid section if he had time later, once they were underway.
Next, he nailed two rough planks on both the port and starboard sides, leaving a gap in the middle for the oars. As fast as he could, he nailed a baton to the side of the canopy on the outside of the boat. He repeated this on the other side so that, in no time, the boat was covered in a tight tent and better still – if it worked – water would run off the canopy and out of the boat, not into it.
Sue looked on in awe. Gus didn’t come across as the brightest spark in school, but my goodness he was practical. He was a credit to the woodwork department. She ran round pulling bits of the canopy tight while Gus hammered and sawed and stretched the plastic sheeting. So immersed in their project were they, that they hardly noticed the water seeping in and over the floor.
‘Almost time to batten down the hatches,’ Gus cried, smiling.
Sue ran up and hugged him. ‘I couldn’t have done this without you,’ she said, and she genuinely meant it. Sue climbed into the boat and sat under the canopy as a deep sense of foreb
oding filled her. She desperately hoped she was doing the right thing. And she hoped like anything that Isabella and the twins had got away safely.
Gus slipped a few remaining planks into the boat and a couple more of the 2 inch by 4 inch sections, grabbed the remaining nails, the hammer, a saw, a small axe and a chisel and threw them in the box. Just before the water covered the whole floor, he scanned the shed looking for anything else; Sue’s umbrella for starters, a couple of old empty paint pots with lids. More rope, string, a whole reel of strimmer cord, another large dust sheet, this one neatly folded. He rummaged through the cupboards like a man possessed and found an untouched bag of barbecue briquettes. He threw them in. When they landed, they’d need fire.
Sue packed them away. Then with a few last minute alterations as the water reached the upper limits of his boots he clambered in, praying like mad there were no holes in the boat. And he prayed that with their weight and the fresh water and the timber, they wouldn’t drop through the bottom.
Slowly the boat rose with the rising water level. It creaked, but so far so good. No holes nor rotten timbers – as far as he could tell. Sue shook as thunder and lightning blazed outside. It felt as if they were waiting in the depths of the Coliseum before being fed to the lions in front of an angry, screaming crowd. The boat rose further still before finding its buoyancy. Then it started to drift.
‘Here we go,’ Gus yelled. ‘Hold on tight.’
But, a moment later, the boat clunked into something. Gus looked confused and squeezed past Sue to the bow. He looked out and muttered something under his breath.
‘What is it?’ Sue cried. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Technical difficulty,’ he said, scratching his chin. ‘Pass me the axe.’
Sue scrabbled around in the box and handed it over.
Gus disappeared and set about trying to smash the weatherboards. A short while later and Gus’ banging stopped. ‘It appears,’ said Gus, popping his head back under the canopy, ‘that the water has risen higher than the gap the boat was meant to squeeze out of. In short, we’re stuck!’ and he smiled his toothy grin again.
‘For crying out loud,’ Sue howled. ‘Can’t you get the boards off?’
‘What do you think I’ve been doing? Knitting?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘So how are we going to get out?’
‘There’s a window directly above, so panic ye not. I’ve got an idea,’ he said. ‘Pass me the saw, and move to the other end – please.’
Gus took the saw and stood on the seat right at the prow of the boat. He began sawing as fast as he could through the timbers surrounding the window, the boat sloshing from side to side.
After several minutes of sawing and whacking, Gus put his drenched head back under the canopy. ‘Don’t think that’s going to work, either.’ He smiled again. ‘Rain’s quite warm, so that’s cool.’
Sue looked appalled. ‘What are we going to do?’
Gus stretched out his legs, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘We wait.’
‘Wait!’ Sue roared. ‘You must be joking. We’ll drown if we stay in here. Can’t you see that?’
Gus ignored her and smiled toothily again. It seemed to act as an anger-deflecting shield. ‘You know what we haven’t done?’ he said, his large eyes sparkling.
‘What?’ Sue snapped.
‘Named our vessel.’
Sue eyed him warily. ‘Seriously, Gus, before we start thinking up names, do you actually think we’ll get out of here?’
Gus raised his eyebrows and nodded.
‘How?’ Sue said, raising her eyebrows back at him. Getting a straight answer out of Gus was proving to be a bit of a nightmare.
Gus pointed upwards.
‘God?’ she yelled, sarcastically.
Gus laughed and his whole body galloped up and down. He moved close to her so they could hear each other without yelling. ‘No, you banana-cake; through the roof. So long as the water continues to rise,’ he peered out of the end of the boat, ‘and it is, just as you said it would, then we go up.’
Sue grimaced. ‘Really? You sure it’ll work?’
‘Oh yeah. Far easier this way. There’s corrugated iron sheeting up there, they’ll lift off and then, whoosh – away we go.’
Sue couldn’t help but admire his confidence, although she wasn’t entirely convinced. Wasn’t corrugated sheeting incredibly heavy? ‘So what do we do now?’
‘Well, let’s see. We could start by naming our boat. It’s definitely good luck before a maiden voyage. You got any ideas?’
‘Not really. You?’
‘Yeah,’ and he smiled his big smile again.
‘Oh no, what is it?’
Gus opened his eyes wide. ‘I think we should call it the “The Joan Of”.
‘That’s it?’ Sue said. She looked mystified. ‘The Joan of … what? What does that mean? It doesn’t make any sense. That’s not a name for a boat.’
Gus feigned a look of shock. ‘Now, come along, brainbox. This little teaser shouldn’t be difficult for a super-smart girl like you.’
32
To The Rescue
Old Man Wood hadn’t taken his eyes off the panels. It was impossible. But increasingly he knew in his bones that he absolutely had to do something. More than anything, he was amazed and thrilled that the children were alive. He couldn’t fathom how they’d managed it. How could children so young survive the tumult out there? They’re only little, he kept thinking, as tears formed in his eyes.
He knew Daisy was tough and had a very high pain tolerance – the purple bruises she wore after football matches gave him the proof of that. But Isabella? Archie? No. No chance. They were soft – like all the children he’d ever known of that age.
What could he do? He felt helpless and, worse still, he wasn’t even sure if he could help. He viewed the screen; Daisy and Archie were sitting in each other’s arms up a tree. Now that was clever – keeping warm, out of the rain. He clapped his hands together. If they stay just as they are, they’ll be fine – he’d go and find them.
In a second it changed. He saw them shuffling up the branch as though something was coming to get them. He zoomed out. Was it a predator, a big cat or ... ? He scratched his chin. Suddenly a huge flash burst onto the screen. Old Man Wood fell back. Lightning? Sweet apples! His skin prickled with a cold sweat. Daisy lay on the branch as it crashed into the bank – where was Archie?
He watched the scene unfurl: Daisy hanging on for dear life – Archie being swept away. Archie held up by something and, as though in a huge panic, straining on the rope with all his might while Daisy lay on the branch. What was she doing? Screaming? He couldn’t take his eyes off the scene. Then another flash struck directly at Daisy. Old Man Wood shrieked and felt for his heart. He could hardly bear it. Then he watched as the entire branch of the tree hurtled down the makeshift drain towards the swollen river, Archie dragged behind, under the water.
Old Man Wood yelped and clasped his head in his hands. Much to his astonishment, Archie resurfaced and climbed onto the log. How did he have the strength? – he must be possessed.
Daisy lay still, just as she had before. She hadn’t moved since she’d screamed. Her screen flickered, as though it was faulty. Old Man Wood gave it a pat, as if that might restore it. But it flickered again, little lines cutting through the clear picture. A terrible feeling rushed over him and the colour drained from his face.
‘NO!’ he yelled out. ‘Don’t give up, Daisy. Whatever you do, DO NOT EVER GIVE UP!’
Old Man Wood was spurred into action. He had to get down there and fast. What should he take? He turned on the torch and shot off towards the shed. His heart and mind racing, he grabbed a rope, a small axe and his hard helmet with a built-in torch on the front. He dashed into his cold room where he stored his huge variety of apples. He selected eight rather small ones from the special box he kept far from the door. These would fill them up. In the cloakroom, he found his long, waterproof coat and his walking bo
ots, which he slipped on to his large feet as fast as he could.
He returned to the bedroom and stared at the screens.
Archie was cradling Daisy, he could see that. Tears were running down his face. ‘Oh you poor things,’ Old Man Wood cried. ‘Keep her warm and speak to her, little Arch – don’t let her drift off.’
At least they had found somewhere to disembark. It was on what looked like a huge pile of rocks. And Daisy’s monitor was back to normal, for the moment at least.
Now, where was Isabella? He furrowed his brow. Blimey, she’s in a funny place. Bang next to a rock face and surrounded by boulders. She’s shivering, crying. No wonder. How did she get there? He zoomed out and pressed the cloud button which cleared away the rain.
‘Apples alive!’ he said. ‘They’re on either side of the same great heap of rocks. With all that rain they’ll never discover one another, unless by chance!’
He zoomed out further on Isabella’s monitor. ‘I know exactly where it is!’ he exclaimed, his eyes almost bulging out of his head in excitement. He checked his watch. Ten minutes before four o’clock or thereabouts. Just over an hour before nightfall. He’d have to hurry.
He darted out of his room, bursting with an energy and purpose he hadn’t felt in years, when an idea shot into his head. He turned on his helmet light, made a detour and skipped down the cellar stairs. Now, which one was it? He headed along a very musty brick corridor that smelled of old wet rags and stopped outside a low, thick wooden door laced with metal studs right at the end. Cut into it were the markings “II” – Roman Numerals for cellar No. 2.
Now, he thought, how did the door open? There wasn’t a key, he was sure of that – it was something smarter; keys could be lost or discovered by nosey children or unwanted guests. He strained his brain trying to work out what it might be. ‘Aaarghh,’ he cried. ‘Why does my head always go blank at times like this?’ In his frustration he thumped his fist on the wall. One of the bricks shifted. His eyes darted up and he groped about, pushing the bricks to see if anything would happen.
