They rode off with the sheep still watching. They chuckled as they recounted the battle. ‘My final attack was the best,’ Thommo declared. ‘I had two hands going so fast they were a blur.’
They rode on, saturated but happy.
Danny kept his distance from Thommo because even after the wash his shirt smelled of rotten melons.
When they reached the crossroads where the sign for Arbon’s Gorge sat leaning, ready to fall and full of bullet holes, Thommo checked his map. ‘Right, it’s not far now,’ he declared. ‘We have to go across country. That way, in the direction of Fogarty’s farmhouse.’
Danny looked to where Thommo was pointing. ‘I can’t see the farmhouse.’
Thommo shook his head. ‘Duh!’ He thrust the map under Danny’s nose. ‘Here. Look,’ he pointed. ‘The house is on the other side of tunnel hill. You can’t see it unless you’ve got X-ray vision and can see through hills.’
Danny turned to Sam. ‘Is that right, Sam?’
‘Hey!’ cried Thommo before Sam could respond. ‘No need to ask him. I’m right and I’ll prove it to you when we get to the top of tunnel hill and have our picnic. Now come on, I’m hungry.’
Danny tried to ignore the sound of Thommo’s rumbling stomach (about the size of a watermelon or one small baby about to be born).
There was no road to the old railway track and the tunnel. The boys scrambled through a leaning fence. ‘Do you know where you’re going, Thommo?’ asked Sam.
‘Just shut up and follow me. Not even you can walk right past a railway tunnel and not see it!’
They rode slowly, following sheep tracks that wound and twisted across the fields.
Thommo was the first to reach the spine of yellow weeds that grew along the course of the old railway line. The track snaked in sweeping curves across the fields before disappearing into the dark throat of a huge hole in the side of the hill in the distance.
‘There it is!’ Thommo pointed. ‘See, I told you we couldn’t miss it.’
He took off. The first couple of sharp pushes on his pedals sent little puffs of red dust from his rear wheel. Sam was with him. They raced side by side. Danny hung back deliberately. He didn’t want to be there first: there might be werewolves!
Instead he watched as Sam and Thommo raced along the sheep track beside the railway line. To Danny’s delight, Sam was ahead.
‘You’re not winning this one, Thommo!’ Sam called.
‘Only because you got a head start.’
‘I did not.’
In the places where the track dipped into hollows, Danny could only see their heads speeding through a jungle of tall grass.
When Danny rode to a skidding stop beside Thommo and Sam they were standing astride their bikes and staring into the darkest depths of the tunnel. Two crows flew across their line of sight and blended perfectly with the dark backdrop. A few seconds of uncertain silence followed.
At their feet, rotting sleepers were massed with busy ant highways. Rusty orange rail lines, buckled by heat, had wrestled themselves free of the constraints of tired dog spikes. Many spikes lay strewn across the paddock nearby, victims of past visitors.
As Danny looked at the scattered dog spikes he suddenly thought that maybe the spikes had been pulled from the sleepers by the teeth of wild werewolves in moonlit parties of howling mayhem.
‘Are you going in?’ he asked, breaking the silence.
‘Let’s eat before we go in,’ said Thommo, dropping his bike on the track. He pulled his lunch pack from the back of his bike, where it had been tied on with a tangled assortment of short ropes. Danny had noted that Thommo’s dad used a similar haphazard method when tying down loads on the back of his old red truck.
Thommo suddenly slapped Sam’s back, hard! ‘Race you to the top of tunnel hill!’ he cried, running clumsily up the side of the hill. He wasn’t an athlete. Danny’s mum always described Thommo’s running as ‘galumphing’. Danny liked the word; he thought it suited Thommo perfectly, although he had no real idea of what it meant. A voice in Danny’s head said, as if reading from a book, Thommo galumphed up the side of the hill. And he did.
Danny and Sam were still fumbling with the thin ropes that held their supply packs of plastic shopping bags bound with sticky tape to their bikes.
‘Come on, losers!’ Thommo scoffed.
‘He’s going to win again, you know,’ said Danny, pulling frantically at his ropes.
‘Who cares?’ Sam shrugged. ‘If we don’t race then there’s nothing to win.’
Danny looked at his older brother, amazed by his wisdom. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. ‘Who cares, hey, Sam?’
Danny smiled contentedly. He was lucky to have a big brother so wise in the ways of the world and the likes of Mark Thompson.
The brothers took their time to unravel the ropes around their supply packs. Meanwhile Thommo (who hadn’t looked back and still thought he was in a race) huffed, puffed, tripped and stumbled all the way to the top of tunnel hill. He was good at galumphing.
At the top he stopped, exhausted, put his hands to his knees and loudly sucked in each breath. He was ready to claim victory and enjoy another triumph, but when he saw the Allen boys still on the track near their bikes he slumped to the ground, wrestled with his supply bag, pulled out a drink bottle and started guzzling.
‘Look at him,’ said Sam. ‘He looks a bit like Humpty Dumpty up there.’
Danny laughed. ‘He does, yeah.’
When Danny and Sam reached the top of tunnel hill they turned in slow circles to take in the view. The old railway line lay across the backs of the gently rolling hills like the skeletal spine of a long-dead animal. The Fogarty homestead with its chicken pens, sheds, derelict farm machinery and cluster of trees crowded with cockatoos and crows sat below them like a model in the near distance.
Danny spied Mr Fogarty, well, half of him anyway, the bottom half. Mr Fogarty had the bonnet of his old four-wheel drive raised and was leaning into the engine bay. To Danny it looked as if he were checking the tonsils of a mechanical beast and might be swallowed at any minute.
Thommo was the first to finish eating. ‘Right,’ he said, rising to his feet and brushing himself down. ‘Let’s go check out the tunnel.’
‘Hang on.’ Sam held up his half-eaten sandwich. ‘We haven’t finished yet.’
‘Well, I’m not hangin’ around for you guys,’ sneered Thommo, waving a dismissive hand and sauntering off. ‘I’m going to find a chalk stone and write something on the inside of the tunnel wall. I’ll see you down there.’
Danny watched Thommo walk away. Surely he wouldn’t go into the tunnel alone. Thommo wasn’t that brave . . . was he?
With thoughts of fierce-eyed, hungry werewolves gnashing their teeth, Danny turned to Sam. ‘Shouldn’t we go with him?’
Sam shrugged his shoulders. ‘We will in a minute.’
Thommo waddled down the slope of tunnel hill. When he started picking, pulling and poking at the seat of his pants, one leg lifted slightly to the air, Danny turned away. Gross.
He put his sandwich down, picked up a biscuit and looked back in Thommo’s direction. He was out of sight. Gone . . . phoof!
Danny thought that if the story of people disappearing in the tunnel were to come true then the lasting image he would have of Thommo was him scratching his butt.
Hmm, just as it should be, really.
A few minutes after Thommo disappeared, Danny and Sam ran laughing down toward the tunnel’s entrance.
Danny nearly took a tumble, but waved his arms like the wings of a startled chicken. Somehow, he managed to keep his balance. The boys stopped outside the tunnel’s gaping mouth, a deep blackness but for the light framed in the dark arch at the far end. Suspicious scratching and scraping could be heard echoing through the darkness.
‘Maybe we should sneak up on him,’ said Danny.
‘He’ll be expecting that,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s just go in screaming. He won’t be expecting that.’
‘Right,’ Danny agreed. He thought it was the best approach. Meet the werewolves head on!
‘Go!’ said Sam.
‘Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooow!’
In they charged like wild animals.
Leaping over the threshold that linked daylight and darkness they tossed their heads back and wailed mournfully.
‘Oooooooaaarggghhhhh!’
They waved their arms above their heads and let out some ear-piercing screams.
‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!’
Then they stopped, expecting to see Thommo appear, shivering, on his knees. But no. They were in the middle of the tunnel and Thommo was nowhere to be seen. Danny and Sam exchanged concerned glances. With the daylight behind them and the tunnel curving high over their heads, the two brothers stood bewildered.
They remained silent for at least two seconds. Suddenly, Danny grabbed at Sam’s arm.
‘Argh!’ Sam jumped. ‘Get off!’
‘Let’s leave him,’ whispered Danny, his wide eyes darting in all directions.
‘No way,’ said Sam. ‘He’s not winning this game.’
‘Where could he be, though?’
Sam didn’t answer. His wide eyes (dark brown, like Danny’s – chocolate drops their mother called them) rolled searchingly in all directions.
‘There’s nowhere to hide,’ said Sam. ‘He must’ve gone out the other end when he heard us. We’ll run back across the top of the hill to the other entrance. We’ll get him.’
‘Right, let’s go,’ said Danny, keen to get out of the tunnel.
They ran out into the warm brilliance of the sunshine. They scrambled up the slope then across the top of the hill and down to the other entrance.
‘Thommo!’ called Sam, puffing hard. His voice faded in echoes into the deep darkness of the tunnel.
No answer.
‘He thinks he’s being funny,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve had enough of this. You wait here.’
‘Wait here! But . . .’
‘Just stay here, you don’t have to go in.’
‘But what if you . . . ?’
‘I’m just going back to the other end of the tunnel,’ interrupted Sam. ‘I bet he’s up on top of the hill laughing his head off at us.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. You know what he’s like.’
‘Yeah,’ nodded Danny nervously. ‘I bet you’re right.’
He grabbed Sam’s arm before he took off. ‘Don’t you play any tricks on me, Sam.’
‘I won’t. I want to get Thommo.’
Sam took off.
Danny stood alone, peering deep into the tunnel, waiting for Sam to get to the other end. In the grass nearby he found an old sign. It had once been part of a cross that said RAILWAY CROSSING. Danny had the half that simply said ‘RAILWAY’. He held it in his hands, a perfect weapon to bat away any howling attackers.
Time passed slowly. Danny was tense. He stared wide-eyed into the darkness. Then, from the top of the darkness, something small came spearing down toward him. Danny ducked instinctively. He jumped and took a few clumsy steps backwards only to see a small dark bird darting overhead.
Danny swallowed. The blind darkness of the tunnel was eerie. The silence that came with being in the middle of nowhere didn’t help. The sounds from all around – birds, bleating sheep, the distant rev and roar of Mr Fogarty’s four-wheel drive – all seemed to be sucked into the throat of the tunnel and swallowed in dying echoes.
When Sam arrived at the other end of the tunnel Danny was relieved. He waved enthusiastically to the shadowy figure of his big brother, who was standing with hands on hips, trying to get his breath.
‘Where is he?’ Danny yelled, his voice echoing into the darkness.
Sam didn’t answer immediately.
Danny waited anxiously for a response.
Sam caught his breath. ‘Didn’t he come out your end?’ he called.
Danny swallowed. ‘No.’ The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. ‘Sam?’
Sam stood silent, scratching his head. Then he said, ‘Right, walk into the tunnel, Danny. I’ll meet you halfway.’
‘What?’ Danny gasped, hoping he hadn’t heard right.
Sam raised his voice. ‘I said walk into the tunnel and we’ll meet halfway.’
Danny hesitated. ‘Maybe I should wait here and you can walk to me. It’s the same thing. If he’s in there he won’t get past us.’
‘Don’t be stupid. I can see you. Nothing will happen to you. Just walk in, hurry up. He couldn’t have just disappeared.’
‘Why not? Those girls in that movie about that big rock did.’
‘That was a movie. Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I don’t want them making a movie about us, though: Picnic at Howler’s Tunnel.’
‘You’re an idiot, Danny. Now shut up and move in.’
Danny watched as Sam took the first few tentative steps away from the edge of light and into the thickening mire of velvet darkness. ‘Thommo?’ he called uncertainly.
Danny waited to see if Thommo appeared before committing himself. The only sound he heard was the creeping echo of his brother’s cautious footfall. He was a shadow puppet against the backdrop of arched daylight.
Danny moved forward, taking tiny steps. He sidled toward the line of shadow drawn by the roof of the tunnel. He gripped his railway sign firmly. ‘Thommo?’
The bed of stones that cradled the track crunched annoyingly with his every step, despite how softly and cautiously he walked.
Danny and Sam took turns calling.
‘Thommo?’
‘Hey, Thommo.’
Nothing.
Sad crows drifting overhead cawed on cue. Danny hoped he wouldn’t find Thommo, or at least bits of him, ripped to bloodied shreds by the tunnel werewolves. Or worse still, he hoped not to fall victim to them. This tunnel, a small throat of darkness, was bad enough. What would a city in blackout be like? Danny shuddered to think. But then again, he would never know. Why would they ever move to the city? Mundowie was home and Danny’s dad couldn’t be a farmer in the city. He loved being a farmer.
Then Danny heard something, a scratching sound at the top of the tunnel. His eyes darted to the arching ceiling. There was no way that sound was made by Thommo. He might be many things, but he wasn’t Spiderman!
Danny froze. He suddenly became aware of his heartbeat thumping its way up his throat. ‘I’m getting out, Sam,’ he said, quivering. ‘He can’t be in here. We’d see him if he was. There’s nowhere to hide.’
‘You stay where you are!’
Danny began to sound a little hysterical. ‘Thommo’s gone! There’s nothing we can do about it!’
Sam didn’t answer. Danny knew Thommo had vanished, swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel or whatever might be lurking within.
Danny’s face twitched uncontrollably. He gripped his weapon tightly. His eyebrows danced in panic. ‘What are we going to do? What will we tell his mum?’
Danny was pleading for Sam to answer, but he didn’t. Danny shivered. Maybe now they should be looking for a body. Lying on the tracks, still warm, it would be hard to see, just like a pile of stones.
Suddenly a terrible sound rolled from the blackest part of the tunnel’s ceiling . . . arwooooooooooow.
Danny’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. His breathing quickened sharply. He wanted to run, but fear had him frozen to the spot.
Then from the middle of the tunnel, appearing to leap from within the thick walls, a screaming figure . . . yeoooowaaaaaaggghhh . . . charged wildly at Danny.
Gasping loudly, Danny jumped back and shut his eyes. His lips were dry and his hands were shaking like his cheeks shook when he took a bumpy ride to the creek on the tractor.
The seconds lasted forever.
Finally Danny opened his eyes again. Wait a minute!
He recognised the shape of the silhouette running toward him. The galumphing gave it away. It was Thommo!
Danny regathered his
composure. He swallowed down his fear. ‘You don’t scare me, Thommo,’ he called bravely, his echo spinning eerily around the tunnel. ‘We knew you were in there.’
Thommo didn’t slow up despite being recognised. He kept charging and screaming. ‘Waaaaggghhh! Run! Run! RUUUUUUN!’
Danny dropped his weapon, folded his arms and smiled. ‘Give it up, Thommo. The joke’s over.’
Danny’s confident smile faded quickly as another figure emerged, running from the walls. Whatever it was, it was after Thommo!
Danny was so terrified his feet seemed to be nailed to the spot like the railway line had once been. He could hear himself stuttering and stammering but no words or scream came out, just funny, strangled noises.
The tunnel-dweller was hot on Thommo’s heels, flapping what appeared to be bat wings. The thing had an enormous head. Danny’s imagination created fangs, fur and blood-red eyes.
His knees went weak. His heart skipped several beats and his skin was cold and clammy. The immediate darkness felt as if it were caving in, enveloping him. Danny’s chin wavered and his breathing became rapid. He was feeling faint.
He wanted to shout and scream, but his voice was gone.
It was his brother’s gut-wrenching scream that broke his trance. ‘Run, Danny! Get out of the tunnel!’
Thommo, with his head tossed back, puffing and chuffing, feet pounding, arms pumping, offered a great impression of a speeding steam train. He was shouting, but making no sense at all. He was so terrified he made up his own words – the language of terror. ‘Walloooow willaaaaagh giddyooooh!’
When Danny saw the whites of Thommo’s eyes bulging to the size of ping-pong balls, he took off. He called to his brother, ‘Help Sam! Heeeelp!’, and almost choked on his own breath.
In the race for survival Danny led Thommo into the sunlight. Danny leaped from the track at the point where the shadow of the tunnel’s entrance cut across the line. He stumbled on the stones and dropped awkwardly to the ground, his arms outstretched and hands flat to break his fall. Thommo didn’t stop to help. He kept running, straight past Danny, still speaking the language of fear. ‘Geraaaaw baaahfooo muuuum.’
Take it Easy, Danny Allen Page 2
