by Justin D'Ath
This is madness! I thought, switching off the engine.
When I first got the puncture I’d kept driving because I knew how difficult it would be to change a wheel in the dark. And how much time it would take. All I could think about was reaching the helicopter before it took off again. But five minutes driving on a flat tyre had nearly ended in disaster. I would have to change the wheel.
Which was fine in theory. Problem was, I had never changed a wheel in my life. And the Land Cruiser was halfway down a steep slope, tilted dangerously to one side and buried nearly up to its axles in sand. I had to get it onto level ground before I could safely use the jack. That meant driving down to the bottom of the sand dune. When I got back in and started the engine, the Land Cruiser wouldn’t move. It was bogged.
Plan B. I would have to walk.
Here’s another of Nathan’s survival rules: when you get lost or stranded in the outback, stay with your vehicle until help arrives. But how long would that take? I wondered. Nobody knew we were missing. And they wouldn’t know until Nathan failed to show up for work on Monday morning. Today was Saturday. There was enough food and drink in the Land Cruiser to keep me going for a fortnight. But Nathan only had two muesli bars, a handful of M&M’s and half a bottle of water. Plus he was badly injured. I had no choice but to leave my vehicle and go for help.
I didn’t know how far I had come since I saw the helicopter. Three or four kilometres, I guessed. The helicopter couldn’t be too far away. I took Joey with me. And one of the waterbags, just in case. But I was pretty confident I could find my way. All I had to do was walk towards the three bright stars.
After twenty minutes I began to feel less sure about things. The three stars seemed to be higher in the night sky and the line they made was no longer perpendicular. It tipped slightly to the right. I worked out what was going on. The movement of the earth had changed the position of the stars in relation to the horizon. Major bummer! It meant they would no longer lead me to the helicopter.
Uncertain what to do, I put the waterbag down and cupped both hands around my mouth. ‘COOEE!’ I called as loud as I could, hoping the pilot would hear. I don’t know if he heard, but something did. It answered with a high, mournful howl that made my hair stand up and caused Joey to shift nervously inside my shirt.
A dingo.
Moments later, the wild dog howled again. Or was that another one? The second howl sounded closer.
Dingoes aren’t dangerous, I told myself, as I strained my eyes in the direction of the eerie, blood-chilling sound. There had been hardly any cases of them attacking people. It was only semi-wild dingoes that were a threat: animals that lived near popular tourist destinations and had lost their natural caution around humans. I was in the middle of a desert, hundreds of kilometres from the nearest tourist attraction. I had nothing to fear.
Or so I thought.
The dingo howled again. It was difficult to judge how close it was, or in what direction. The sound seemed to come from all around me, like in a movie theatre with multiple speakers. It rang through the wide starry sky and sent a shiver to every part of my body. If I were at the movies, this would be a horror film. Joey had stopped fidgeting, but I could feel his tiny racing heartbeat against my itchy stomach.
‘It’s okay, Joey,’ I whispered, stroking him through my shirt. I wanted to call out to the helicopter pilot again, but I was too scared to raise my voice. I didn’t want the dingo – or dingoes – to know where I was.
Too late. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a movement at the top of a nearby sand dune. Or had I imagined it? By the time I turned my head, nothing was there. The dune made a long, smooth silhouette against a thousand twinkling stars. The moon was still low in the sky, casting the near face of the dune in deep shadow. I strained my eyes. It was all shadows, black on black. Slowly I backed away, out of the dune’s shadow and into the pale moonlight.
I stopped. Something was behind me. I could hear its breath, a rapid in-out rush of air like a dog panting. Very slowly, taking care not to make any sudden movements, I turned around. Nothing. Just an empty expanse of moonlit sand. Just my imagination, I told myself. I felt weak with relief.
Then I saw a trail of shadow-filled indentations in the sand. Animal footprints. It didn’t take a genius to work out what kind of animal. The dingo had been stalking me from behind. It had come as close as ten metres, then melted back into the shadows when I’d turned around.
In a cold sweat, I backed away from the footprints as if they were alive. After two or three paces, I made myself stop. Panicking wasn’t going to help. The dingo was out there in the darkness. It knew where I was. It was probably watching me at that very moment. But it’s afraid of me, I said to myself. Otherwise, why had it run away when I’d turned around?
Encouraged by this thought, I forced myself to calm down. I had to think rationally. I had to work out what to do. The dingo was out there, but it was scared of me, so it wasn’t my biggest problem. Getting help for Nathan was still my top concern. I had to find the helicopter.
I clambered to the crest of a sand dune and cupped my hands around my mouth. ‘COOEE!’ I yelled.
In the distance, a dingo howled. Another one answered from no more than fifty metres away. Then a third dingo howled somewhere behind me. How many dingoes were there?
‘COOOOOEEEEEE!’ I screamed.
About five dingoes answered, but no humans. I tried again and again, until my throat was sore and I had run out of breath. No one responded. By now, the line of three bright stars had moved so far from the horizon that I didn’t even know in which direction to shout.
I had to face facts: I wasn’t going to find the helicopter in the dark. I would have to wait until daylight. That meant spending the night in the desert.
Nathan was right. I should never have left the Land Cruiser. But it was too late now. I looked round for somewhere to sleep. Not that I really expected to get any sleep. The dingoes had stopped howling, but I was worried about them. Especially the one that had stalked me. Now that they were silent, I had no idea where they were. I stroked Joey’s tiny head with one finger. Small as he was, at least he was company.
I decided to stay where I was. I would spend the night at the top of the sand dune. From there I had a good view of the desert around me. The moon made the scene surprisingly bright. I could even see my own footprints crossing another sand dune seventy or eighty metres away.
That’s it! said a little voice in my head. I could follow my footprints. They would lead me back to the Land Cruiser.
I was so relieved about not having to spend the night out in the open, I completely forgot about the dingoes until I reached the bottom of the dune. Then I heard a tiny noise. Or thought I did. I glanced nervously over my shoulder.
Shishkebab!
Silhouetted against the night sky, a line of ghostly, wolf-like forms came slinking down the slope behind me.
9
HUMAN PREY
Don’t run, I told myself.
Dingoes are social animals. On their own they are naturally timid, but put them with others of their kind and a pack mentality takes over. They draw courage from each other. They become bold. And there’s nothing that makes a dingo pack more bold, and therefore more dangerous, than something (or someone) running away from it.
Even knowing that, it’s hard not to run when there are half-a-dozen ravenous dingoes creeping along behind you in the dark.
I knew they were ravenous because I could see the bumps of their ribs in the moonlight. These dingoes were all skin and bone. They were half starved; their hunger overrode their natural caution. To them, I had ceased being a human. I was prey.
To make matters worse, I had Joey tucked down my shirt. I must have smelled of kangaroo – and baby kangaroo, at that. To a dingo, a baby kangaroo is the greatest delicacy on the face of the earth.
I have to admit … several times I considered tossing Joey to the dingoes. It might have got them off my case, distract
ed them long enough to allow me to make a run for it. But I couldn’t do it. I had already killed Joey’s mother; I couldn’t kill him, too.
Besides, I wasn’t sure that sacrificing Joey would save my life anyway. It might do just the opposite. Once the starving dingoes got a taste of blood, they might lose the last scrap of natural caution that had stopped them from attacking me so far. Joey would be the appetiser – I would be the main course.
The dingoes were still a tiny bit scared of me. They hung back. But when I tried walking faster, they increased their pace. When I slowed down, my silent pursuers slowed, too. Each time I looked over my shoulder, the six stalking shadows were still there. And always slightly closer. At first they stayed about fifteen metres back, then the distance was down to ten. Now it was only five or six.
I had to do something. There were no trees to climb and I was only about halfway back to the Land Cruiser. Still five or six minutes from safety. I sensed that the dingoes weren’t going to wait that long. At any moment, one of them might build up the courage to lead the others across the five-metre gap separating us. And I knew which one that would be.
Every pack has its leader, its alpha dog. The leader in this case was unmistakeable. Its fur was pitch black and it stood a head taller than the other animals. Because it was black, it was nearly invisible except in direct moonlight. It wasn’t a pure dingo; it looked like a cross between a dingo and a Doberman. Being a cross made it more dangerous than the others: it had less natural fear of humans. It was the alpha dog, always at the front of the pack. The one that would lead the attack.
Unless I attacked first.
I swung round and faced them.
The pack stopped. The five smaller animals edged slowly away from me until they were behind the tall black dingo/Doberman cross. We squared up to each other in the moonlight. There was only three metres between us. My heart was beating like a jackhammer. The alpha dog let out a long, low growl. Its eyes glinted in the moonlight. An ear flicked. Otherwise it didn’t move. It was waiting to see what I would do next.
There was a large circular spinifex bush about a metre to my right. Not taking my eyes off the big black mongrel, I shuffled slowly sideways and bent over. About fifty needle-sharp prickles jabbed through my skin, but I hardly noticed the pain as I ripped up a large handful of dry, straw-like spinifex. I slid my other hand into my pocket.
This had better work, I thought.
I thumbed the flint of Nathan’s cigarette lighter. It made a loud rasping click and sparks flew. That was all – there was no flame. My hand was shaking, my fingers felt damp with sweat. I clicked the lighter a second time. Same result. The alpha dog growled again and lowered its head. It was getting ready to spring. I clicked the lighter again. Success! A tiny blue-and-yellow flame shot up. It reflected in the alpha dog’s eyes and glinted on its long, bared teeth. The animal was crouched low to the ground, growling deep in its throat. At any moment, it was going to launch itself at me.
Don’t make any sudden moves, I cautioned myself. Slowly, I lifted the flaming cigarette lighter towards the bunch of spinifex in my other hand. But even as the first spiky tips began to ignite, I realised it was too late.
The alpha dog sprang.
Whumph! The spinifex exploded into a bright, crackling fireball.
For a moment it blinded me. But it blinded my attacker, too. Unable to see, the flying dog smashed into my chest paws first, rather than jaws first. It bowled me over backwards. We landed in a tangle of legs and arms. The mongrel was on top of me, but I had surprise on my side. Before it had time to recover, I waved the fiercely burning spinifex in its face. It twisted away with a yelp of fright. I rolled over and went after it, scrambling along on my knees, waving my flaming torch in front of me and yelling for all I was worth. The alpha dog didn’t know what was happening, only that it was being attacked by something hot and bright and loud. It went bounding off into the darkness, whimpering like an overgrown puppy. The rest of the pack milled around me for a few frightening moments, then they scattered and went chasing after their leader.
All but one. The remaining animal was six or seven metres away, nose to the sand as it followed a fresh scent along the ground.
‘Yaaaah!’ I yelled, scrambling to my feet and waving my fiery torch.
The dingo raised its head slightly, but not to look at me. The focus of its attention was a small clump of spinifex. From where I stood, I could see something on the opposite side of the bush – a tiny quivering form that cowered as the larger animal approached.
With a gasp of shock, I realised what it was. A baby kangaroo.
10
IF FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLDS COULD HAVE HEART ATTACKS
Sometime during my battle with the alpha dog, my shirt had come untucked, allowing Joey to fall out. Now the baby kangaroo huddled helplessly behind the spinifex clump as the dingo crept towards it. I was side-on to the drama; I could see exactly what was about to happen.
I yelled again, but the dingo took no notice. It probably hadn’t eaten for a week and it was hot on the scent of every dingo’s favourite meal. My flaming torch had burned down to my hand, forcing me to drop it. There wasn’t time to make another one, and anyway I had lost Nathan’s lighter. I raced across the moonlit sand, waving both arms and yelling like a madman. I had no plan. I didn’t know what I was going to do if the dingo didn’t run away, but I couldn’t let it eat Joey. It paused just long enough to flash its teeth in my direction, then turned and pounced across the spinifex.
‘Nooooooo!’ I cried, hurling myself headlong through the air.
I caught the dingo in a flying tackle, knocking it to one side. I landed on top. Because the animal was so skinny, I nearly crushed it. There was a whoosh of air being driven from its lungs and the horrible sound of a rib cracking. It let out a yowl of pain, and bit me on the shoulder.
Luckily it was only a glancing bite – more a nip, really – and I managed to roll away before the dingo could bite me properly. But I rolled into a wall of spinifex.
It wasn’t the clump that Joey had hidden behind; this was a much larger one. It prickled me in about a hundred different places through my shirt, but still I pressed backwards into it. I was cornered.
The dingo came stalking towards me, crouched low to the ground, limping slightly. It had forgotten about the baby kangaroo now – all its hate and anger was focused on me. I had attacked it, so the dingo probably saw me as a threat to its life. It was coming to finish me off.
There wasn’t time to stand up. I grabbed two handfuls of spinifex, ripping them out by their roots. As the dingo rushed forward, I thrust them in front of me. The unfortunate animal ran straight into them with its mouth wide open.
It must have been like biting a cactus. The dingo let out an ear-splitting howl, then turned and went limping off into the night, shaking its head and stopping every few paces to rub its nose with its paws. I felt sorry for it later, but at the time I was just grateful to be alive.
I was shaking like a leaf as I made my way over to the smaller clump of spinifex where the baby kangaroo huddled in the shadows. He was shaking, too.
‘It’s okay, Joey,’ I said, giving him a gentle cuddle, then placing him carefully back inside my shirt. ‘You’re safe n–’
I didn’t finish the sentence. I might have saved my breath anyway, because Joey wasn’t safe. Neither was I. But I didn’t realise it straightaway. I was too amazed by what I saw.
What on earth …?
First I’d seen the Min Min light, now there was another weird light. On the front of my shirt. Exactly where Joey was. It was pink and round, about the size of a twenty-cent coin, and it was moving. As I watched, dumbfounded, it came wobbling slowly up my shirt front, then stopped on my chest, slightly to the left of centre. Right on my heart.
I looked at it for a moment, then the truth hit me like a hammer.
Holy guacamole!
If fourteen-year-olds could have heart attacks, I probably would have dropped dead right
there and then. Instead, my heart went into hyper-drive, my body switched over to autopilot and adrenaline kicked in. I hurled myself sideways.
And not a second too soon. As the little pink light went skidding off the edge of my khaki shirt, the deafening crack-crack-crack of automatic gunfire shattered the silence of the desert night.
11
TRAPPED
I lay inside a circle of spinifex, peering out through a tiny gap as four shadowy figures with guns cast about on the sand for my footprints. One of them had a torch. He cupped his hand around its lens, making a narrow beam that swept to and fro across the red bumpy ground. This was where I’d fought the dingoes and there were footprints and dog tracks leading everywhere.
‘I’m sure I got him,’ one of the armed men whispered angrily. ‘He should have gone down.’
I bit my lower lip to stop my teeth from chattering; I didn’t want to give my position away. My insides had turned to jelly. With one hand, I nervously stroked Joey. Who were these men? They were dressed like soldiers and carried automatic weapons with state-of-the-art, infra-red night sights. It didn’t make sense. There wasn’t a war on.
Then it hit me. Terrorists! I had nearly blundered into a terrorist training camp. That explained the helicopter landing in the middle of the desert under the cover of darkness. It explained the uniforms, the weapons, and why the four men were after me. I was a threat to their secret operation. They wanted me dead.
‘Over here!’ hissed the man with the torch. ‘He went this way.’
